The Twelfth Department cadk-3

by William Ryan

  “You took your time.”

  Little Mishka was standing just inside, half-hidden in the late-evening gloom. Korolev wasn’t in the mood to bother with him and nor, it seemed, was the Thief his usual combatitive self, merely nodding Korolev toward a coach house, barely even bothering to scowl. Behind Mishka, Korolev could see the glowing tips of two cigarettes and the dark shape of a large man leaning against a wall to his right. Korolev ignored them. Again, ancient doors opened easily and in the shadows two cars were parked.

  “Greetings Korolev,” Kolya’s voice came from the darkness as he entered. “Did you succeed?”

  Korolev reached into his pocket. “I did,” he said, and took out the map of the estate’s location.

  There was a movement to his left and Korolev turned to see a youngster standing by the wall. When he saw that Korolev had noticed him, Kim Goldstein stepped forward.

  “He could be useful to us,” Kolya said. “Remember—we’ll look out of place there, while he might not.”

  Korolev breathed deeply and held the boy’s gaze. Goldstein nodded to him, the personification of calm.

  “What happened to Yuri?”

  “Chekists.”

  “I know—how though? And how is it you were with him in the first place?”

  “We came across him by chance—he was watching the train station from the trees beside the monastery in Peredelkino and saw us come over the wall. He thought there were men staking the place out, although he wasn’t sure who they were, so we went to the next station along the track.”

  “And when you got to Moscow?”

  “We took a tram into the center—I don’t know if they saw us at Kievsky and followed us, but they were waiting for us when we got off.”

  “But you got away, didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t stop them taking Yuri,” Goldstein said. “I tried—they gave me this.”

  He came further into the light and Korolev saw that someone had hit him a good belt—the skin around his eye was puffy and discolored.

  “And Yuri?”

  “They took him, like I said, but he was all right the last time I saw him. I only just managed to get away—they took Petya as well.”

  Petya was the friend he’d gone over the wall with.

  “It’s your damned fault he’s in this mess, Goldstein, and it’ll take more than that bruise to fix it now.”

  Goldstein said nothing but held his gaze sullenly.

  “I know everything,” Korolev continued. “I know your father’s name was Bramson and your mother’s Goldstein and how you took her name. I know your family lived in Azarov’s apartment before he did and, somehow or other, you found out about the ventilation system and how to get into it. I know that when Azarov denounced your parents, you ended up on the streets and your parents—well—elsewhere.”

  “Dead,” Goldstein said.

  “I see,” Korolev said. The anger in the boy’s eyes was such that his instinct was to look away, but Korolev held Goldstein’s gaze—and waited.

  “Azarov took everything from me. When we were taken to his institute for the research project,” Goldstein said, “I knew I’d been given a chance to take something from him.”

  “Where did you get the Derringer from?”

  “I knew where my father kept it and when they came for him, I hid it in the ventilation system where no one would find it—under some rubble, right at the end of one of the tunnels.”

  “And so Monday morning, you crept out of the orphanage and shot him while he sat at his desk.”

  Goldstein shrugged. “He deserved it. But we got out the night before. We had to wait until the time was right.”

  “Did Shtange deserve it? His murder was a direct result of what you did.”

  “We went to do the same to him the next day,” Goldstein said quietly. “Only someone got there before us.”

  “That scalpel-cut. You left your mark on him, all the same.”

  Things were finally fitting into place.

  “He was as bad as Azarov. He might have spoken kindly to us, but he did the same things.”

  But in truth, had Shtange really had a choice? Once he was ordered to Moscow—he had to do what he was told. And he’d at least tried to stop it with his report. On the other hand, weren’t the prisoners and Thieves humans too? Didn’t they have rights? And Shtange had done nothing for them. Korolev shook his head—all he knew was that right and wrong were slippery commodities these days.

  “Where’s the gun now?”

  “In the river.”

  Korolev sighed.

  “I haven’t time for this now but you can believe me when I say I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  If Goldstein was alarmed, he hid it well, only nodding.

  “Shall we look at this map of yours?” Kolya asked, seeming to decide that the silence needed breaking.

  “Why don’t we?” Korolev said.

  The Thief lit a lantern and Korolev spread it out on the bonnet of the nearest car and they stood over it, looking down at his rough sketch. Korolev began to explain how to get there and where to leave the cars.

  “We have a visitor,” Mishka’s voice came from behind them and they turned to see who he was talking about. A leather-jacketed female stood beside him, arms folded.

  Slivka.

  “I knew you were up to something,” she said.

  “You followed me?”

  Slivka took a step forward and her face became visible. She wasn’t smiling—if anything she looked angry.

  “I didn’t have to—he told me.”

  She nodded in Kolya’s direction—the Thief shrugged.

  “You’re supposed to be showing me the ropes,” Slivka continued—more than just angry, it seemed—furious. “Turning me into a first-class detective—not skulking around behind my back.”

  “Slivka, the only rope on this little trip is shaped like a noose. I want your neck kept out of it.”

  Kolya was leaning against a car listening, and Korolev was suddenly reminded of a pointless argument he and Zhenia had once had while visiting her parents. Except that her parents had pretended not to notice, whereas Kolya sat watching them as if he were at the cinema.

  “Kolya,” he said. “Tell her we’ve no room.”

  “We’ve room,” Kolya said. “And Nadezhda’s a cool head in a tight spot. We can use her—I’ve only four men and Mishka. Another gun might come in useful. Besides, she has the right.”

  And Korolev could see there wasn’t much point in arguing. After all, blood was blood and family was family. And Kolya’s son was her blood and her family.

  “On your head be it then,” he said eventually.

  And so he began to go through the plan all over again.

  * * *

  “And when we get to the house itself?” Kolya said. Korolev turned the piece of paper over, and showed them the rough plan of the buildings that he’d prepared with Azarova’s help.

  “There are three main buildings surrounded by a wall—it’s about eight foot high, so manageable. The children’s dormitories are in the house itself. On the first floor. There’s a stable yard here, to the rear of the house, which was empty the last time Azarova was there—it might not be now. There’s also a newer building over here, to the left of the house—two stories, with several offices on the ground floor. What’s upstairs, she didn’t know.”

  “Guards?”

  “As she remembers it, there was one at the gate. An older man. But she remembers that the men and women who looked after the children looked like they might do more than turn down the beds at night. My suspicion is there will be more of them now.”

  Then Korolev took a deep breath and told them his plan.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Korolev leaned against the trunk of a tree, waiting for Goldstein and Mishka to come back from scouting the place, and wishing it were possible to have a cigarette. It was strange, he thought, that in a situation where he should be, at the very least, a
pprehensive, he was instead consumed with desire for tobacco. He shifted his weight and did his best to keep his mind focused on the fear he should be feeling.

  To his left, so close he could hear him breathing, was Kolya; and crouching on the ground in front of them was Slivka. Behind him, sitting on a tree trunk, were two more of Kolya’s men—Red Sasha and the Deacon. The other two had been left with the cars, just off the main road, to make sure they all had a way out of the place.

  It was a good night for this kind of affair, the moon was more than half-full but there were enough clouds passing overhead so that they could move around unseen. There was a stillness in the air that made the small sounds of the woods behind seem amplified—but Korolev was more concerned about the occasional noise from inside the high walls. What if Goldstein had been discovered?

  “There,” Kolya whispered, and pointed at a figure slipping over the wall at a point just ahead of them.

  The boy dropped silently to the ground, sitting still for a long moment, before moving toward them at a crouch, pausing every now and then to listen and look—probably for them. When he was about twenty meters away Kolya gave a low whistle and the boy changed his course. When Goldstein reached them they retreated into the treeline.

  “Well?” Kolya asked.

  “The place is quiet enough. There’s a guard at the main gate and one that walks around the place every fifteen minutes, but that’s it, as far as I can see. The one who walks around is older and stout, he’s carrying a pistol. The one at the main gate looks younger and fitter—he’s got a pistol as well.”

  “In his hand?”

  “In his belt. They’re both wearing holsters.”

  “What about the buildings?” Korolev whispered, covering the torch’s beam with his closed fingers so that only a pink glow came through. It was just enough to see Azarova’s map and the others crowded in close.

  “The map is accurate enough,” the boy said. “The stable block was open and I had a look inside—it’s full of crates and equipment, but empty of people. The main house is a different story, three entrances. The front door is here,” he said, pointing. “It’s well-lit around it so I couldn’t check if it’s locked or not, but my guess is it is. This is the back door and that’s definitely locked, I tried it. This is the side entrance and it’s open. It seems to lead down to a kitchen of some sort and it’s where the walking guard goes when he isn’t walking. I heard voices there so there may be others inside. There are lights on in there anyway. Both downstairs and upstairs.

  “This is the new building, which looks like it might be what we’re looking for. I heard a boy’s voice and there are lights on inside. I tried the doors here and here, but it’s locked up tight—and the windows are shuttered and secured as well. The walking guard has a key though—he went in for about five minutes while I was watching. I could hear him speaking to someone.”

  “The boy’s voice?” Korolev asked, trying to keep his optimism under control.

  “I couldn’t make out what he said but he was in a downstairs room—on the stable side. A woman was talking to him. I think it was the same woman who spoke to the guard.”

  “Do you think he could be Yuri?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Kolya turned to him and Korolev found himself nodding.

  “Anything else?”

  “There are three trucks parked up by the stable block, there’s a car in front of the main house and a bus as well.”

  “A bus?” Slivka asked.

  “A small one—one of those ZIS ones.”

  Korolev knew the model—a fourteen-seater. The number of vehicles concerned him, it could mean that there were more people about the place than he’d bargained for.

  “Show us the walking guard’s route.”

  Goldstein traced a route that ran from the side entrance around the inside of the square wall that guarded the buildings, stopping off at the main gate, the newer building and the stable block before returning back to the side entrance. According to Goldstein his circuit took no more than five minutes.

  “You said there are lights.”

  “The areas around the buildings are lit up but there are plenty of shadows around the walls to move about in. And the stables are only lit at this end.”

  Goldstein pointed to the end of the stable block closest to the new building.

  Korolev nodded and looked at his watch—it was coming up to midnight. He prayed the voice was Yuri’s.

  * * *

  They returned to the edge of the trees and didn’t have to wait long before Mishka’s crouched figure came into view, making its way carefully through the undergrowth. Again Kolya gave his low whistle and the Thief came toward them, one hand moving to his pocket—and Korolev didn’t doubt it had wrapped itself around a pistol.

  Once Mishka was sure it was them he relaxed and swung the small rucksack he was wearing from his shoulder down onto the ground and squatted beside them. The wall, it turned out, continued right the way around the buildings and at no point was it lower than the part they were currently closest to; in fact in some places it was higher. There were two gates other than the main gate but both were locked, and apart from rough lanes that led into the woods, the metalled drive that led from the main road was the only way in and out—for cars at least. As for the phone line, he’d dealt with it.

  “We’re best to go in where the kid went—just there.”

  Mishka gestured toward the tree Goldstein had used to clamber over the wall.

  “Well then,” Korolev said. “This is how we’ll do it.”

  He spoke quietly, pointing out who was to go where and when. They had ten minutes, from the moment the walking guard went back into the house, to secure the front gate, search the new building and deal with whoever was in it, and disable the vehicles. Then five minutes from when the walking guard started his next round, in which to take him out of action.

  “After that,” he said, “we go into the main house. But remember the time—no dawdling. And try not to kill anyone—there’s no point making this worse than it already is.”

  There was silence, but he could see heads nodding in the gloom.

  Kolya leaned across and pushed something into his hand—a cosh. “I brought a couple. Just in case.”

  Slivka stood up and stretched.

  “There’s no time like the present,” she said.

  “Remember,” Korolev whispered as they began to make their way toward the wall. “No guns, unless it’s life or death.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Korolev was crouched in the shadow of the bus—hidden, he hoped, from the main house, yet with a good view over the rest of the area inside the walls. About five minutes previously, there’d been the faintest of sounds from the main gate, then nothing—Kolya’s two bruisers must have dealt with the guard. Not long after that, Korolev had seen Goldstein slip across the lit area heading up toward the trucks; then he’d watched as Mishka and Korolev crouched beside the side door to the new building for no more than fifteen seconds, before it opened and they were in. Someone must have found a set of keys on the main gate guard—which meant they were ahead of schedule.

  He looked across at Slivka, standing under a low tree, invisible unless you were looking straight at her, except for perhaps the slightest reflection of light from the shoulders of her jacket. If the walking guard kept to the route Goldstein had described, he’d pass between them. All they could do now was wait—and perhaps pray. Korolev found his hand halfway to his shoulder to cross himself when he stopped, remembering that Slivka was probably looking over at him. His hand hung there for a moment before it occurred to him that he’d more to be worried about than Slivka seeing him bless himself.

  No, Slivka wasn’t someone he needed to fret about. He’d told her everything on the way out about the report, about how Madame Azarova had killed Shtange. He’d even told her about his meeting with Rodinov and the dead end the report had turned out to be. The one thing he hadn’t to
ld her about was Goldstein’s part in the business—but that had hardly seemed polite, what with Goldstein sitting in the car beside her. Now he looked across at her and finished what he’d started, his fingers touching his shoulders, his forehead, his lips, praying she made it out of this in one piece. He’d certainly do his best to see to it.

  His mind had wandered a little perhaps, so that when a door shut somewhere inside the house he was surprised. He breathed deeply, pulled the cosh from his pocket, hefted it, and reminded himself exactly what he had to do.

  Now there came the sound of voices. A man’s and a woman’s. He looked across at Slivka and thought he saw her hand move—but if she meant to tell him something, he couldn’t make it out. He prepared himself, bending his knees slightly—imagining the blow and exactly where it would land.

  “I’ll come with you—could do with a breath of fresh air.”

  A woman’s voice. Korolev cursed under his breath, feeling a surge of alarm, but he calmed himself, thought it through. They couldn’t let the guard go past—there was no choice. Not with his friend gagged, tied, and out for the count at the main gate. Not with the door to the new building open and Mishka and Kolya busy at work. He beckoned Slivka to come forward, to distract them, and she nodded her agreement.

  The footsteps were almost upon them now, one heavier, one lighter. Korolev held his breath as the pair came into view, both of them smoking, their pace slow and companionable.

  “Comrades, have you a light?” Slivka asked as she stepped out from the shadow of the tree, calm as you like, and the guard was actually holding out his cigarette to her when Korolev’s blow hit him between the neck and the ear, exactly where he’d envisaged it. The fellow went down faster than a drunk on an icy pavement.