Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1)

by Sophie Masson

  Maxim could see he wasn’t going to get any more from the man. “Well, then, I will leave you to your Sunday, and I thank you very much for your help, but if there is anything you might remember later, perhaps you might care to call me on this number?”

  “Very well, Senior Lieutenant,” said the old man, taking the scrap of notepaper. “But I doubt I have very much more to tell you. Oh, do say hello to our mutual friend, won’t you? And tell him he owes me a drink.”

  Chapter 26

  In her dream, she was in a room. A very small, very dark room. She was paralyzed, facing a corner where something crouched. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t turn her head. She could only stare at the thing in the corner. Not that she could see it – for it was made of dense darkness, like the blackest night. But she could smell it. There was no escaping the smell. It was rank, like the stench in the den of a wild animal. But worse than that. Much worse. In the dream, she thought it was the smell of evil. Of hatred. Of black despair ...

  It was very quiet in that dream-room. Her ears were full of silence. A heavy silence that seemed to clutch around her heart, squeezing, slowly, slowly, while the stench grew worse and worse.

  And then – then the thing moved. She heard it. Her terrified mind broke the spell, speeding her up through layers of consciousness like a desperate sailor escaping a stricken submarine, and with a gasp she woke.

  She was in bed. In Alexey’s bed. He was lying beside her, deeply asleep. The room was quiet. Not dark. Pale light was filtering through a crack in the curtains. As her breathing slowly returned to normal, she thought, Don’t be afraid of your dreams. Easier said than done, at least while you were in the middle of them. She could rationalize it now. It’s only a dream: subconscious fears you hardly understand, mingled with fears you are aware of. Like the memory of the black coffin graphic on the threatening card. Was that what it had been about? A formless enemy, waiting in the dark.

  Alexey’s godfather Volkovsky had called Alexey last night about Serebrov’s lack of progress so far in tracking down the identity of the sender of the card. And last night, relaxed after a surprisingly enjoyable, rather boozy barbecue lunch at Galina’s which went on till early evening, Helen had persuaded herself that it was okay, and that she’d vanquished the demon worry. But she must still have been troubled, deep down. And it had come out in that awful nightmare. Though now she was fully awake, the power of the dream, the special quality of its hideousness, was slowly fading. Thank God.

  She slipped quietly out of bed and went to the bathroom. On the way back, she happened to glance out of the window and saw Oleg’s dogs in the garden, prowling around restlessly, their coats shining blackly under the moon. With a little tremor, she went back to bed, trying not to think of the other day, of being bailed up by them under the tree, lest the image was the last thing in her mind before she fell asleep and it triggered another nightmare.

  But it didn’t. Quite the opposite, she sailed into a sweet dream of flying, not alone this time, but with Alexey, and nothing and no one troubled them; there was just the blue sky around them, and then, quietly, everything faded into a long dreamless sleep. And when she awoke, it was to the sound of her name, spoken by Alexey, already dressed and fresh from the shower, bringing her breakfast in bed.

  “I thought we might have a day on the river today,” he said, brightly. “Hire a rowboat. Go fishing. What do you think?”

  “It sounds lovely,” said Helen, buttering her warm, sweet yeast bread, “only I can’t fish and I’m not all that good at rowing either.”

  “Then I’ll teach you, you’ll see, there’s nothing to it.”

  “Says you,” she retorted, but smiling.

  He said, “You know what, Lenochka? I thought, when I woke this morning – this place – it’s ours now, yours and mine, and for the first time I feel at home in it.”

  She kissed him, tenderly. She thought how in the past she had been afraid of the future ambushing her. She’d tried to control it, set goals. She’d had her life in hand. So she thought. Till the fates whacked her hard and then future and present both disappeared and there were only fragments of the past endlessly replaying, like a stuck music loop. Now – she wasn’t brooding about the past; but she also didn’t fret about the future. Not any more. She’d never felt more alive, never felt more present in the moment, more at home, in the world, in life, in her skin, with him. So what did bad dreams matter, when she felt like this?

  *

  Under the trees by the Volga, the mosquitoes swarmed; but on the river, there were none at all, and it was perfectly delightful, a tiny breeze ruffling the calm blue waters, the boat bobbing peacefully along as Alexey rested at the oars. They fished most of the morning and caught only one fish in the end, but it was a lovely day, they were together, with their whole lives in front of them like the flowing waters of the Volga. After a lunch of the excellent sandwiches and home-made juices Katya had prepared for them, they simply allowed themselves to drift, talking softly at first then falling into a companionable silence, watching the river, and all that was going on beside and on it. For there were several other people out on the water too, and they exchanged greetings with them, in the quiet, laconic way of any river fraternity. There was something curiously pleasing about it, thought Helen, something oddly satisfying in being part of the ordinary intimacy of people in the vastness of nature. The river put things into perspective, like watching the stars at night. It gave you a sense of the grandeur of the eternal. But the little boats on the water reminded you both of the fragility and the simple warmth of human life. Yet they weren’t alien to each other, the bigness and the smallness; they were part of the same thing.

  She said, “Do you believe in God, Alexey?”

  If he was startled, he didn’t show it. He smiled and said, “Yes. Do you?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes not. Don’t you feel like that?”

  “No,” he said, simply.

  “You just believe, is that it?”

  “No,” he said. “Not really.” He took her hand, put it on his wrist. He said, “Can you feel that?”

  Puzzled, she said, “Your pulse?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s what I feel about God,” he said. “It’s not a belief. It’s something that is like my pulse. There all the time. Do you see?”

  She looked at him, catching her breath. “I do. But I’m not sure I’d call it God.”

  “Whatever you choose to call it,” he said, gently, “it’s there.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is.”

  He looked at her. “What brought that on, Lenochka?”

  “Just being here, with you,” she said, simply.

  He smiled. “You know what? I’ve sometimes wondered what heaven might be like, and now I think I know. What we share. Our love. No matter what happens – we will always be together in these moments. I think that’s what it will be for us, in the next life. Those moments, over and over, always fresh, always beautiful.”

  She shot him a glance, uneasy again. It was the tone in his voice, the look that had briefly flickered in his eyes, like a dark shadow briefly seen moving in the depths of the sea. She said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just idly speculating. Being a village theologian.” His voice was warm, his smile impish. Had she just imagined what she’d seen in his face before? She said, tartly, “Well, I prefer our heaven in this life, thank you all the same. Besides, I never fancied all that stuff about pure spirits and sitting around on clouds strumming harps and all that sort of thing.”

  He laughed, and kissed her. “Neither do I.”

  *

  It was an hour or so after they got back to the house that Helen’s cell phone rang. It was her mother.

  “How’s your day, darling?”

  “Lovely, Mam. We’ve been fishing.”

  “Fishing?” said her mother, in an incredulous tone,
as well she might. Her daughter had never been renowned for an interest in fishing before.

  Helen laughed. “We just caught one fish but it’s a reasonable size.”

  “Good,” said her mother vaguely. “But listen, Helen – Irina’s back. And she’d like you both to come for dinner. Tonight, if that suits.”

  “Hang on, Mam.” She put a hand over the phone and asked Alexey.

  “Okay, why not?” he said. “I’d like to meet the famous professor.”

  Just before they left for Irina’s, Volkovsky called. He was back in St Petersburg, he said, following up a lead from Zaitsev on Lebedev’s associates. “There’s nothing further from Maxim in Moscow yet,” he went on, “but I know he’s continuing his investigations. He keeps his cards close to his chest, does our policeman friend. And he’s slow. Methodical. But he’ll get there. Oh, and by the way, there proved to be no fingerprints on that message. Whoever sent it used gloves. The only fingerprints were on the envelope, and they were the courier company messenger’s, and the barman’s. It’s faintly possible DNA testing may uncover more, though unlikely. But it’s slower in any case and we’ll have to wait for results.”

  “What about Foma and the code?” asked Alexey. “Has he made any headway on that?”

  “I’m afraid not. But he’s keeping at it. He’s another one who doesn’t give up. And this is a real challenge to his pride so I’m confident he’ll do it sooner rather than later. Now, is everything all right at your end?”

  “Quite all right,” said Alexey, smiling at Helen.

  “I will call again tomorrow if I have news,” Volkovsky said. “In the meantime, don’t worry.”

  “Of course not,” said Alexey, ironically, and when the call ended, he immediately tried to call Maxim, but the number was engaged, so instead he called Ilya, and spoke to him for a few minutes, in Russian.

  At last he rang off and Helen said, “So? What was that about?”

  “I just wanted to know if Ilya had anything new to report.”

  “And did he?”

  “No. He’s been going through the CCTV footage of what happened the other day, trying to zoom in on the faces of those other two guys.”

  “And?”

  “Without success. They were much cleverer than Grisha. They never faced the camera and besides they had those balaclavas. He’s trying to see if he can blow up other details, like shoes and so on, but doesn’t hold up much hope he can identify them from that. Okay, then, we’d better go, we’re already late for our dinner date.”

  Chapter 27

  Irina’s eyes were bright with frank interest as Helen introduced her to Alexey. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Makarov.”

  “Alexey, please, Professor. And I am sorry we are late. My fault. I had to take a call.”

  “Nichevo,” said Irina, cheerfully. “No worries. Dinner’s not spoiled, and Therese and I just had ourselves another glass of wine, so we’re happy. And none of this professor business, either, Alexey. My name’s Irina. Now what do you have there? Wow, did you guys catch this yourselves?” she exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other, as Alexey presented her with the fish wrapped in clear cellophane.

  “We did,” said Alexey, grinning, “And I know it won’t feed four of us, let alone the five thousand, but maybe you can have it tomorrow. And here’s something else that I hope you might like.” He presented her with a bottle of French champagne, cold from being in his father’s cellar.

  “Hey, any apology gracefully accepted if it comes with a fresh fish and most especially with real champagne,” said Irina, laughing. She poured four glasses and they toasted each other and then sat down to a meal of delicious roast lamb and vegetables. And if Helen had feared the conversation might flag, she was soon reassured, for Alexey asked about Irina’s favorite subject, the book she was writing, and that kept everything flowing nicely.

  Irina told them she was working hard on one of the most important chapters in the book, about cases of feral children brought up by bears. “There’s not as many documented cases of that as children brought up by wolves,” she said, “but they’re just as interesting. And some of them are very recent. For instance, in 2001, a sixteen-month old baby girl was found in a bear’s den in Iran. She was being fed by the mother bear!”

  “That’s really weird. You’d think a bear’s natural instinct would be to kill a human, or at least to avoid them,” said Helen.

  “You’re right, honey – and nine times out of ten that’s exactly what happens. But occasionally, a female bear will accept a young baby or toddler as part of her family. Usually it’s when they have cubs of their own. I guess a protective instinct kicks in.”

  “But how the hell does a kid end up in a bear’s den in the first place?” asked Alexey.

  “They get lost – the parents are hunting or foraging and the kid wanders off – or they’re abandoned because the parents can’t feed them or sometimes because the child’s mentally disabled. What mostly seems to happen is that the child crawls into the den, when the mother bear’s absent – and falls asleep with the cubs. When the mother returns, well, she just lets it stay there. Anyway, it’s pretty rare, but it’s been documented all through time, and all over the world – from Lithuania to Turkey, Hungary to India to the States. Anywhere you find bears, really.”

  “What about in Russia?” asked Therese.

  “Here too. The case I’m concentrating on is one I unearthed in my research, of a baby who was found in a Karelian bear-den in late 1934 and who subsequently became part of a most unusual scientific project around feral children. The Homo Ferens project. That’s ‘wild man’ in Latin. It was conceived by a Russian scientist called Antonov. His Homo Ferens was a top-secret project commissioned by Stalin. So secret there was practically nothing archived at all. It forms the heart of my book. The theme, in a way. And it’s taken me years and years to piece together the story, and track down the details.”

  “So what was the project, exactly?” said Helen.

  “Ah…” Irina smiled and wagged a finger. “Maybe you should wait and read my book!”

  “Oh come on, Irina, you can’t just leave it like that,” said Therese, smiling. “We’re all bursting with curiosity.”

  Irina smiled. “Okay. I suppose it started first because of the superhuman soldier experiment Stalin ordered in the late 1920s. A scientist called Ilya Ivanov, an animal geneticist by profession, reckoned he could cross-breed humans and apes to produce a being who would have human-type intelligence but no human morality, who would have animal strength, endurance, cunning and obedience. The perfect soldier, as far as Stalin was concerned. Anyway, that experiment was a complete failure, not one embryo resulted from it.”

  “Yuck,” said Helen, revolted, “what a disgusting thing to even try.”

  “Stalin didn’t care about that, honey, he only cared about success. And when it didn’t work, well, he punished Ivanov for it, sent him into exile, where he soon died. The whole project was dismantled completely and never tried again. But a few years later, in the 1930s, the guy I’ve been looking at, Antonov, came up with a completely different superhuman project. Not nature, but nurture. Not genetics, but upbringing. Now, there’s a famous fairytale about Ivashko, the bear’s son, who’s brought up by a bear and has superhuman strength and agility but little concept of morality. Despite all that, Ivashko gets on really well in life. Antonov thought that this story contained a kernel of truth. But he also knew that though most real feral children have certain senses sharpened enormously and do have superhuman strength or agility or whatever, they are mostly unable to adapt to human life after they are found, especially the older they are. Mostly, they don’t learn to speak, they seem unable to learn human ways, they pine for the wild, and they die young. But Antonov thought he could modify these patterns, and that a way could be found that would grow a superhuman and useful child, like in the fairytale. The child would be brought up by the bear – but the whole thing would be controlled, so it wasn’t
just left up to the animal. The child would be in constant interaction with the bear, but carefully monitored.”

  Helen said, “You mean, he would watch it all happening?”

  “Yes. But from a distance. From an observation hide. He wouldn’t interact with the children himself though.”

  “The children?” said Alexey. “There was more than one?”

  “Oh yes. It all started after Antonov discovered the existence of the Karelian child – who I’ve called Baby K, nobody knows his real name. So Baby K was the first subject. But not the only one. There were by my reckoning about eight to ten children involved.”

  “There were that many children found in bear-dens back then?” said Helen, surprised.

  “Oh no. Only Baby K. The others – Antonov obtained through other means.” She paused. “There were many orphans in those days. Abandoned children.” She saw their expressions. “Look, Antonov thought of himself as a rational scientist. The old concept of the soul, morality, all those things had been rejected. To Antonov, it was all about new frontiers. The continuation of evolution but not by random means. He really thought he was helping to bring into being a whole new species. He did not intend cruelty to the children. In fact, I think he meant well.”

  “Meant well?” said Alexey, incredulously. “He sounds like a complete maniac.”

  Irina looked at him. She sighed. “He was single-minded, yes. Obsessive, yes. A maniac? Well, you have to remember the times. Against the Stalinist background of mass murder, Antonov’s experiment really was small beer. But I find it, and him, interesting, because of that mixture of science and fairytale. It is not my job to pass judgment, Alexey.”

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean that,” said Alexey, hastily, “and I’m sorry if it sounded like that. It’s certainly a fascinating subject.”

  “It sure is,” said Irina, smiling. “Endlessly fascinating. But that’s quite enough about my stuff, I’m tired of holding the floor and I’m sure you’re all sick of hearing about it.” She looked at Alexey. “It’s your turn to spill. I hear you’ve taken the helm of your father’s company. And yet I also heard you’d planned a career in music. What gives, then?”