by Boris Akunin
‘In such a short period of time it is not possible to produce a c-copy of such high quality,’ Fandorin replied. ‘And in any case Lind tells us that he has his own jeweller.’
Kirill Alexandrovich shrugged and said: ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why does he have to have the Orlov? The stone is priceless, and that means it has no market price. It’s known all over the world; you can’t sell it.’
‘But why not, Your Highness?’ Colonel Karnovich objected. ‘You could cut it into three or four large diamonds and a few dozen medium and small ones.’
‘And how much could you sell all that for?’
Karnovich shook his head, unable to answer the question.
‘I know a little about such things,’ said Fandorin. ‘Three large diamonds of fifty carats or so can be worth approximately half a million roubles in gold each. And the small ones – well, let’s say another half-million.’
‘Two million?’ said the emperor, and his face brightened. ‘But we will not grudge a sum like that for our dear Mika!’
Fandorin sighed: ‘Your Majesty, this is not at all a matter of two million. I know Lind’s style. This is blackmail, and on a far grander scale than is obvious at first glance. We are not simply talking about the life of one of Your Majesty’s eleven cousins. Lind’s target is the coronation. He knows perfectly well that without the Orlov, the ceremony cannot go ahead. And the boy’s life is only a means of applying p-pressure. The real threat is not that Lind will kill the young grand duke, but that he will disrupt the coronation and dishonour the name of Russia and the Romanov dynasty throughout the world by leaving parts of the boy’s body in the most crowded areas.’
Everyone present, including myself, gave a groan of horror, but Fandorin continued remorselessly: ‘You were saying, Your Majesty, that no buyer could be found for the Orlov anywhere in the world. But there already is a buyer, and one who cannot refuse to buy. That buyer is the house of Romanov. Essentially, what you have to buy from Lind is not the grand duke, but the Orlov diamond, for what is at stake here is not just the stone, but the c-coronation and the very prestige of the monarchy. I am afraid that it will cost more than two million. Very, very much more. And that is not the worst thing.’ Fandorin lowered his head sombrely and I saw his hands clench into fists. ‘You will pay for the safe keeping of the stone and the return of the grand duke, but Lind will not give the boy back alive. That is against the doctor’s principles . . .’
An ominous silence fell, but only for a few moments, because Pavel Georgievich, who had so far been sitting quietly at the far end of the table, suddenly covered his face with his hands and burst into sobs.
‘Pauly, get a grip,’ Kirill Alexandrovich told him sternly. ‘And you, Fandorin, stop trying to frighten us. You’d better tell us about Lind.’
‘He is the most dangerous criminal in the world,’ Fandorin began. ‘I don’t know why he is called Doctor, perhaps because he possesses knowledge in many surprising areas. For instance, he speaks numerous languages. Possibly even including Russian – I would not be surprised. Very little is known for certain about Lind. He is obviously relatively young, because ten years ago no one had heard of him. No one knows where he is from. Most likely he is American, because Lind committed the first crimes that brought him fame as a daring and ruthless villain in the United States of North America. He began by robbing banks and mail cars and moved on to become a true master of the arts of blackmail, extortion and kidnapping.’
Fandorin spoke with his eyes fixed on the table, as if he could see in its polished surface the reflection of pictures from the past that were visible only to him.
‘And so, what do I actually know about this man? He is a confirmed misogynist. There are never any women n-near him – no lovers, no girlfriends. Lind’s gang is an exclusively male preserve. A male brotherhood, if you like. The doctor seems to have none of the usual human weaknesses, and as a result no one has yet managed to follow his trail. Lind’s assistants are slavishly devoted to him, something that is very rarely found in criminal associations. I have captured the doctor’s men alive on two occasions, and both times I got nothing out of them. One was given hard labour for life, the other killed himself, but they did not betray their leader . . . Lind’s connections in international criminal circles are truly boundless and his authority is immense. When he requires a specialist in any field at all – safe crackers, hired killers, engravers, hypnotists, burglars – the greatest experts of the criminal sciences regard it as an honour to offer him their services. I assume that the doctor is f-fabulously rich. In the time since I have taken an interest in him – which is a little over a year and a half – only in the cases that I know about he has appropriated at least ten million.’
‘Francs?’ Georgii Alexandrovich asked, intrigued.
‘Imeantdollars. That is approximately twenty million roubles.’
‘Twenty million!’ His Highness actually gasped at the figure. ‘And the treasury gives me a pitiful two hundred thousand a year! Only a hundredth part of that! And the blackguard has the nerve to demand money from me!’
‘Not from you, Uncle Georgie,’ the sovereign commented dryly. ‘From me. The Orlov is crown property.’
‘Nicky, Georgie!’ Kirill Alexandrovich shouted at both of them. ‘Carry on, Fandorin.’
‘I have had two meetings with Doctor Lind . . .’ Fandorin said and then hesitated.
The room went very quiet. The only sound was the chair creaking under Colonel Karnovich as he leaned forward bodily in his eagerness.
‘Although I do not know if I can really say that I met him, because we did not see each other’s faces. I was wearing disguise and make-up, Lind was in a mask . . . We became acquainted with each other eighteen months ago, in New York. The Russian newspapers may perhaps have reported the kidnapping of the millionaire Berwood’s twelve-year-old son? In America the story was front-page news for a month . . . Mr Berwood asked me to assume the responsibilities of intermediary for the delivery of the ransom. I demanded that the kidnappers first show me their prisoner. Lind himself took me to the s-secret room. The doctor was wearing a black mask that covered almost all of his face, a long cloak and a hat. And so the only observations I was able to make were that he was of average height and had a moustache – but that could have been false. He did not utter a single word in my presence, and so I have never heard his voice.’ Fandorin compressed his lips, as if he were struggling to contain his agitation. ‘The boy was sitting there in the room, alive, with his mouth sealed. Lind allowed me to approach him, then led me out into the corridor, closed the door with three locks and handed me the keys. In accordance with our agreement, I handed him the ransom – a ring that belonged to Cleopatra, worth one and a half million dollars – and readied myself for a fight, since there were seven of them, and I was alone. But Lind studied the ring carefully through a magnifying glass, nodded and left, taking his men with him. I fiddled with the locks for a long time, since they proved a lot harder to open than to close, and when I finally managed to get into the room, Berwood junior was dead.’
Erast Petrovich pressed his lips together again, so hard that they turned white. Everybody waited patiently for him to recover his self-control – the members of the royal family are indulgent with those poor mortals who do not possess their supernatural self-control.
‘I did not immediately understand why the boy was sitting so still and I leaned my head down low to look. It was only when I got very close that I saw there was a slim stiletto stuck straight into his heart! I couldn’t believe my eyes. The day before, in anticipation of a trick, I had searched the room as thoroughly as possible, looking for a disguised hatch or a secret door, and I had not found anything suspicious. But later I recalled that as Lind let me pass him on the way out, he had lingered beside the chair – for a second, no more than that. But that second had been enough for him. What a precise blow, what cold-blooded calculation!’
It seemed to me that in addition to a bitt
erness and fury that time had not dulled, Fandorin’s tone of voice expressed an involuntary admiration for the deftness of this satanic doctor.
‘Ever since then I have set aside all other business until I settle scores with the doctor. I admit that a significant part in this decision was played by wounded vanity and the stain that the whole business left on my reputation. But there is more to it than mere vanity . . .’ Fandorin wrinkled his high forehead. ‘This man has to be stopped, because he is a true genius of evil, endowed with an incredibly fertile imagination and boundless ambition. Sometimes it seems to me that the goal he has set himself is to become famous as the greatest criminal in the whole of human history, and Lind certainly has more than enough rivals in that area. I had realised that sooner or later he would arrange some kind of catastrophe on a national or even international scale. And that is what has now happened . . .’
He paused again.
‘Sit down, Erast Petrovich,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said to him, and I realised that Fandorin’s speech had obviously made a good impression on His Highness – the retired state counsellor was no longer being questioned, they were talking to him. ‘Tell us how you hunted Doctor Lind.’
‘First of all I turned the whole of New York upside down, but only succeeded in forcing the doctor to move his headquarters from the New World to the Old. I will not weary Your Majesty and Your Highnesses with a description of my searches, but six months later I managed to locate Lind’s lair in London. And I saw the doctor for the second time – or rather I saw his shadow as he fled from his pursuers along one of the tunnels of the London Underground, shooting back with incredible accuracy. With two shots the doctor killed two constables from Scotland Yard outright, and he almost dispatched me to the next world.’ Fandorin raised a lock of black hair off his forehead and we saw a scar running in a narrow white line across his temple. ‘It’s nothing, merely a glancing blow, but I lost consciousness for a moment, and in that time Lind was able to escape pursuit . . . I followed close on his heels from one country to another, and every time I was just a little too late. And then in Rome, about six months ago, the doctor simply vanished into thin air. It was only two weeks ago that I learned from a reliable source that the famous Warsaw bandit known as Blizna had boasted in intimate company that the doctor himself had invited him to Moscow for some very big job. As a Russian subject, Penderetski was well acquainted with the criminal world of Moscow – the gangs in both Khitrovka and the Sukharevka. That must be what Lind, who had n-never operated in Russia before, needed him for. I had been racking my brains to understand what could have attracted the doctor’s interest in patriarchal Moscow. Now it is clear . . .’
‘Impossible, absolutely impossible!’ Simeon Alexandrovich exclaimed angrily, addressing His Majesty, not Fandorin. ‘My boys in Khitrovka and the Sukharevka would never take part in a fiendish plot directed against the royal family! They will steal and cut throats as much as you like. But loyalty to the throne is in these Apaches’ blood! On several occasions my Lasovsky has successfully used criminals to catch terrorists. Let me give you an example: for the duration of the coronation celebrations he has concluded a kind of gentlemen’s agreement with the leader of all the Khitrovka thieves, a certain King, that the police will not detain pickpockets, but in exchange they must immediately report any weapons and other suspicious items that they discover in the pockets of the public. The King was quite happy to agree to this condition – he declared that in a certain sense he himself is an absolute sovereign, and monarchs must support each other. I can’t vouch for the exact words that he used, but that was his meaning.’
This announcement lightened the gloomy mood of the company somewhat and Simeon Alexandrovich, encouraged by the smiles, added the following with a wily air: ‘His Khitrovkan Majesty validated his promise with the formula: “I’m a mongrel if I don’t!” Lasovsky tells me that this is the most cogent bandit oath of all.’
‘How’s that?’ asked the sovereign, intrigued. ‘A mongrel, as in a dog with no pedigree, eh? I’ll tell Alice; she’ll like that.’
‘Nicky, Sam,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said sternly. ‘Let’s listen to the rest of what Mr Fandorin has to say.’
‘The King is not the only leader in Khitrovka and in any case he is certainly not an autocratic s-sovereign.’ Although Erast Petrovich was replying to the governor general’s statement, he did not look at him, but at the emperor. ‘They are even saying that the King’s days are numbered, that any day now he will be written off, that is killed by the so-called breakaways – pushy young bandits who are beginning to set the style in Khitrovka and Sukharevka. There is Rennet’s gang, which operates in a new trade, dealing in opium, there is a certain Gristle – his speciality is “wet jobs”, or killings, and extortion. Acertain Stump has also appeared, with a gang in which the secrecy and discipline are tighter than in the Neapolitan Camorra.’
‘Stump?’ the emperor repeated in amazement. ‘What a strange name.’
‘Yes. A colourful character. His right hand was amputated and the stump ends in a plate ontowhich, according to requirements, he screws either a spoon or a hook or a knife or a chain with an iron apple on the end. They say it’s a terrible weapon and its blow is deadly. The breakaways, Your Majesty, have no fear of spilling blood, do not acknowledge the thieves’ laws, and the King is no authority for them. I suspect that Penderetski had connections with one of them. I followed the Marked One and his man from Warsaw, but very cautiously, in order not to frighten them off. He visited the Zerentui inn in Khitrovka twice, a place that is well known for not paying any tribute to the King. I was hoping that Blizna would lead me to the doctor, but nothing came of that. The Poles were in Moscow for ten days, and Penderetski went to the poste restante at the Central Post Office every day and spent a lot of time loitering near the Alexandriisky Palace and the Neskuchny Park. At least four times he climbed over thewall and strolled about in the park round the Hermitage. I realise now that he was looking for a convenient spot for an ambush. From noon yesterday he and his boys were hanging about in front of the exit from the park onto the Kaluga Highway, and there was a carriage waiting nearby. Some time after six a carriage with the grand duke’s crest drove out of the gates and theWarsaw gang set out to follow it. I realised that the business was coming to a head. My assistant and I followed on behind in two cabs. Then two ladies, a boy and a man in a green tunic (Fandorin glanced towards me) got out of the grand duke’s carriage. Penderetski, now wearing a false beard so that I did not recognise him immediately, walked after them. The carriage carrying the other bandits drove slowly behind him. Then my assistant and I entered the park from the other side, and I walked towards the strollers, watching out all the time in case Lind appeared . . .’
Erast Petrovich sighed dejectedly.
‘Howcould I have miscalculated so badly? It never entered my head that there were two carriages, and not just one. But of course Lind had prepared two carriages, because he intended to abduct the girl and the boy, and then take them to separate hiding places. That was why Blizna only seized the grand princess. The second carriage was intended for the grand duke. That is probably where Lind was all the time, which really makes my blood boil. The governess unwittingly made their task easier when she carried the child to the very spot where the second group of kidnappers was lying in wait. Their plan only half-succeeded, but that does not change very much. Lind has still taken Russia by the throat . . .’
At these words His Majesty began gazing around with an expression of extreme unease, for some reason peering into the corners of the drawing room. I took a slight step forward, trying to guess what the emperor wanted, but my imagination was inadequate to the task.
‘Tell me, Uncle Georgie, do you have an icon anywhere here?’ the monarch asked.
Georgii Alexandrovich gave his nephew a glance of amazement and shrugged.
‘Ah, Nicky, for God’s sake!’ Kirill Alexandrovich exclaimed with a frown. ‘Let’s manage without the anointed of God
business. You haven’t been anointed yet in any case, and if the coronation is disrupted, you never will be.’
His Majesty replied with an air of profound sincerity: ‘I do not see what can help here apart from prayer. All of us are in the hands of the Almighty. He has decided to arrange this trial for me, a weak and unworthy monarch, and so there must be some great meaning to it. We must trust in His will, and He will grant us deliverance.’
I recalled that I had seen a smoky little old icon, dark from age, in His Highness’s study. Walking without making a sound, I went out for a minute and brought the sovereign the icon – after first having wiped it with a napkin.
While the emperor recited thewords of a prayer with genuine fervour and even with tears in his eyes, the grand dukes waited patiently, except for Simeon Alexandrovich, who yawned as he polished his already impeccable nails with a piece of velvet braid.
‘Canwe continue, Nicky?’ Kirill Alexandrovich enquiredwhen the sovereign crossed himself for the last time and handed the icon back to me. ‘Very well, let us sum up this lamentable situation. Mika has been abducted by a cruel and cunning criminal who threatens not only to kill the boy, but also to scupper the entire coronation. What else can we do apart from trust in the help of the Almighty?’
Karnovich rose to his feet and whispered from his corner: ‘Find His Highness and free him from captivity.’
‘Excellent,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, turning towards the chief of the court police. ‘Then look for him, Colonel. Lind has given you until midday. You have an hour and a half at your disposal.’
Karnovich sat back down on his chair.
At this point Pavel Georgievich spoke for the first time. With his face contorted and still wet from tears, he said in a trembling voice: ‘Perhaps we ought to give him it? After all, Mika is alive, and when all’s said and done, the Orlov is only a stone . . .’
