“He offered me ten thousand pounds to let him go ahead with his plan,” Blackstone had countered.
“Perhaps we could match that.”
“And if I asked for fifteen?”
“That might be considered a little greedy.”
Blackstone had laughed. “You’re already sighting your pistol at me, aren’t you? There’s no need for it. I promise not to tell anyone about Turgenev — but I don’t want your money.”
“I did not take you for a fool.”
“I’ve been a fool all my life. But even a fool can learn his lesson, given time. I’m sick of the games you people play. Sick of being a pawn in them — and of the people around me being pawns. I’m tired of the whole pack of you.”
“Isn’t there a saying in English that you must either run with the fox or the hounds?” Vladimir had asked.
“Yes, there is.”
“The wise man will always choose the hounds.”
“The truly wise man will stay at home and tend to his vegetables.”
“I am not sure my superiors will accept that,” Vladimir had said. “They would be much happier if they knew you were on our side. And the best way to prove that you are is to take the money.”
“I’m going to walk away,” Blackstone had told him. “There’s no one around, so if you’re going to kill me, now’s the time to do it.”
He had walked away — and there had been no shot.
*
“The moment this matter blew up in my face, I began plotting the ways I might get you to Russia,” Vladimir said.
“Why?”
“Because you had all the qualities which I needed for this particular operation.”
“And what qualities are they?”
“Your lack of avarice was certainly one which ranked highly. A man who seeks power or wealth would have been no good to me, you must understand, since I would inevitably have been putting him in a position which he could have used to advance his own ambitions. But you, my dear Inspector Blackstone, do not care for such things.”
“Don’t I?”
“Most certainly you do not, or you would have taken the money when I offered it to you on the Thames Embankment. Nor do you fear death — though you will avoid it if you possibly can. And that must be an advantage when you are involved in an operation during the course of which several people have already died — and more may yet. So you see, my dear Blackstone, you are — all-in-all — the ideal candidate for the task I have in mind.”
Yet no task had yet been mentioned, nor any operation outlined. Vladimir was toying with him, Blackstone decided. Like the expert hunter he was, he was not chasing his prey, but encouraging his prey to come to him.
Well, sod that for a game of soldiers! the Inspector told himself. If the Russian wasn’t going to say what it was he wanted, then he was buggered if he was going to ask.
“Are your bonds hurting you?” he said, changing the subject.
“Somewhat,” Vladimir conceded. “The Count instructed his soldiers to tie me up tightly, and they have followed his orders to the letter.”
“Then why don’t you ask me to loosen them for you? That’s what most men in your position would have done.”
“True, that is certainly what most men would have done.”
“But not you.”
Vladimir nodded. “But not me,” he agreed.
“Because you feel it might put you in my debt?”
“Because it would be a waste of both your time and mine. The moment you had left me, the guards would come into the cell and re-tie my bonds even tighter than they were before. Besides, we both know very well that I am not like most men. I can brush pain, and other such inconveniences, aside. I am single-minded. And so are you.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are. For the moment, your pride is putting a brake on your single-mindedness, but it will not be able to hold it for ever. Why not admit it, Inspector — you are almost bursting to know what task it is that has made me go to all the trouble of bringing you here.”
“But I already know why I’m here,” Blackstone said, not quite ready to concede that all Vladimir had said was true. “A golden egg has been stolen, and I am here to recover it.”
Vladimir laughed “I would be truly disappointed if I thought you believed that,” he said. “But you don’t, do you? The convenient fiction, which was designed to fool duller minds than yours, will not have held you in its sway for more than a short time.”
“So I know this isn’t about the golden egg,” Blackstone admitted. “Then what is it about?”
“It is about the goose which laid it,” Vladimir told him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“The Prince of Wales had in his possession a certain document,” Vladimir said. “A wiser man than he — his father, Prince Albert, comes immediately to mind — would no doubt have taken better care of it. Perhaps Albert would have entrusted it to the Count for safe-keeping in the strong room. Failing that, he would at least have seen to it that a number of guards were posted, rather than putting his security in the hands of one peasant. But the son is not like the father. He prides himself, foolishly, on his own manliness. Besides, after so many years of being kept out of the process of government by his mother, he is desperate for anything that will make him feel important. And what could make him feel more important than having sole charge of a precious document?”
“Does the Count know what was really stolen?” Blackstone asked.
“Yes, he does.”
“Then he can’t actually believe it was taken by one of the peasants from the village.”
“A man would have to be very foolish indeed to believe that an illiterate muzhik would place any value on a piece of paper.”
“So why is he always ranting on about riding into the village and whipping the peasants?”
“Because that is how people would expect him to behave if a golden egg had been stolen. By his histrionics, he is merely maintaining the fiction.”
“What does this document contain?” Blackstone asked. Vladimir gave as much a shrug as his bonds would allow him. “If you are attempting to recover stolen silver bullion, you do not ask where it was mined,” he said. “Why then, should you worry about the words on this piece of paper I am asking you to retrieve?”
“Is it some kind of land title deed?” Blackstone persisted. “Is it a bank transfer?”
Vladimir laughed. “If you were an archer, I would have to tell you that you are facing in completely the opposite direction to the target you are supposed to be aiming at,” he said.
“What’s in the document?” Blackstone demanded angrily.
“Why should that be any concern of yours?”
“Because it’s important enough to have inspired two attempts on my life, you bastard!”
“I think that is something of an exaggeration,” Vladimir said. “It is certainly true that someone tried to kill you on the train from St Petersburg, but my men prevented that quite easily.”
“Quite easily!” Blackstone repeated. “If they’d have arrived ten seconds later, I’d have been bloody well dead!”
“Ten seconds was an ample margin for men like you and I, who take pleasure in cutting things fine,” Vladimir said blandly.
“Who was it that attacked me?”
“Would you like me to give you the names of the men who attempted to garrotte you?” Vladimir asked.
“Stop playing games!” Blackstone said impatiently. “I want to know who sent them.”
“I imagine they were sent by whoever stole the document. Like me, he appears to have great confidence in your ability to recover it.”
“And what about the attack on the steppe?”
“What about it? You are surely not trying to tell me that was also an assassination attempt, are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because if that had been the intention of your attackers, you would already be dead.”
H
e’d forgotten how intelligent Vladimir was, Blackstone thought — had forgotten that, in so many ways, the Russian’s mind worked in much the same way as his did.
“It wasn’t your men who saved me?” he said.
“No, regrettably not. I am ashamed to admit that, on that particular occasion, they let us both down rather badly. But rest assured, they will not go unpunished for their error.”
“So if they didn’t step in and save me, why did I survive?”
“That, I must admit, I am at a loss to explain,” Vladimir said.
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“There are so many little mysteries in life which are never explained. All a simple man like myself can do is to deal with those for which an explanation is possible.”
“Why are you pretending to be a peasant?” Blackstone demanded.
“I would have thought that was obvious. I do not wish anyone here at the chateau to know that I am member of the Okhrana.”
“But why don’t you want them to know? If you revealed who you really are, you would have all the authority you needed to conduct this investigation in a proper manner.”
“Next question,” Vladimir said, in a tone which made it quite plain that he was not prepared to discuss that particular matter any further.
“What’s your connection to Miss Agnes?” Blackstone asked.
“Who?”
“The governess.”
“Oh her! There is no connection at all.”
“You must think I’m a complete fool!” Blackstone said angrily. “She spoke to you when we were in the village together. When she saw you’d been arrested, she was in tears! So don’t pretend you don’t know her.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” the Russian conceded. “When I told you that I had no connection with her, I was speaking as Vladimir, the secret policeman. Peter the revolutionary is an entirely different matter. Though they have only exchanged a few words at most, she is enthralled by him.”
“And why should that be?”
“I think she has developed a romantic view of the peasants, and sees Peter as one of the instruments for freeing them.”
Agnes hadn’t seemed at all a romantic in Demitri’s izba, Blackstone thought, remembering the way she had spoken about the peasants back then. But perhaps that had been no more than an act — perhaps the hard shell had only been a protective cover for the virgin-idealist.
“You are always taken in by pretty women, my dear Blackstone,” Vladimir said, his amusement evident in his voice. “Remember how easily Hannah managed to run rings around you?”
In Blackstone’s mind’s eye, he was suddenly transported back to a photographer’s shop in a run-down area of London. He could see himself standing at one end of the room, and Hannah at the other. And though the Russian was not yet visible, he was aware that Vladimir was lurking somewhere near the doorway. He knew what would happen next — knew because it had already been enacted a thousand times in his head — and as he once again relived those painful moments which followed, he felt a sudden surge of rage course through his body. In two furious strides, he had crossed the room and was towering directly over the helpless Vladimir.
“If you ever mention Hannah’s name in my presence again, I’ll kill you!” he promised.
“I’m sorry. That was a mistake on my part,” Vladimir admitted. He sounded contrite — and perhaps a little afraid. “But we are professionals, you and I,” he continued. “We must not let what has happened in the past deflect us from our present purpose.” He paused, as if wondering whether, after he had made such a huge blunder, he dare say more. “Why don’t you ask me why I set fire to the West Wing of this house?” he said tentatively.
He was right when he said it was a mistake to dwell on what had happened in the past, Blackstone thought — because such memories were the first step on the road to madness.
“Why did you set fire to the West Wing of this house?” he asked, in a dull flat voice.
“When they brought you in off the steppe, you were in a very poor condition,” Vladimir said, his confidence starting to return. “I had every expectation that you would recover, but I had no idea how long that recovery would take. And I was not at all sure that I could afford to wait — because the longer I did wait, the longer the thief would have to find a way to break through Captain Dobroskok’s military cordon. So I set the fire as a way of possibly bringing a speedy end to the case.”
“You thought that whoever had stolen the document would have hidden it somewhere, and that the moment he knew there was a fire, he would rush to retrieve it,” Blackstone said.
“I knew I would not need to spell it out for you,” Vladimir said delightedly. “I’m now more certain than ever that my confidence in you was justified. Yes, that is exactly what happened. I set the fire in the hope that it would panic the thief.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“Indeed it did not. Our man — whoever he is — has more nerve than I ever gave him credit for. I expected him to run straight to the hiding place. Instead, he feigned the same panic as the other guests were displaying — acted as if his own life was the only thing that was important to him. And as a result, I am no closer to finding him now than I was before I embarked on what turned out to be a very rash course of action.”
There was something in Vladimir’s story that did not quite add up, but for the moment Blackstone couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Tell me why the document is so important,” he said.
“Regrettably, I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because if you knew that, you would also come to see the wider picture, and then, I’m afraid, I would have to kill you.”
“Look at yourself,” Blackstone said contemptuously. “You’re in no position to threaten to kill anyone.”
Vladimir laughed. “You surely don’t imagine that this state of affairs will be allowed to continue, do you?”
“Won’t it?”
“Of course not. In a day or two — three days at the most — this whole incident will be over. More than that — it will never have happened. Everyone involved will have forgotten that there was ever a revolutionary called Peter who tried to burn down the chateau. They will have forgotten because that is what they will have been ordered to do.”
“If you still have sufficient power to get yourself out of this mess, why do you need me at all?” Blackstone wondered.
“For the same reason that I always needed you, my dear Inspector. Because it is of vital importance that this case be solved, but I cannot be seen to be the one who solves it.”
“And I’m supposed to do the dirty work.”
“Exactly.”
“Why should I?”
“Because it is dirty work which needs to be done. And because there will be disastrous consequences — for both our countries — if it is not done.”
“Why should I believe you?” Blackstone asked.
“Because you know that I do not lie.”
“You’ve been lying to me since I walked into this room,” Blackstone said. “I don’t know which specific lies you’ve told me, but I’m willing to bet there were at least two or three of them.”
“At least that number,” Vladimir agreed. “Let me put it another way, then. I may lie to you over operational matters, but when it comes to the big things — such as the security of our two countries — I have always told you the truth. You believe that, don’t you?”
I shouldn’t, Blackstone told himself. I don’t want to. But — damn and blast it — I do!
“Assuming I do agree to do your dirty work for you...” he said.
“Yes?”
“How would you suggest I go about it?”
“You are the true policeman — the detector of crime,” Vladimir said. “It is not for me, someone who you think of as a mere political thug — and perhaps you are right to do so — to tell you how to go about your business. But I do perhaps have one suggestion.”
“And what might that be?”
“You will need help to conduct your investigation. I suggest you continue to use this Miss Agatha.”
“Miss Agnes,” Blackstone corrected him.
“Just so,” Vladimir agreed. “Use her. Just as I get you to do my dirty work for me, so you can get her to do your dirty work for you.”
“And how might I go about that?” Blackstone wondered.
“Use your imagination — and her romantic gullibility. Tell her that you are working for me, and that we are both working for the good of the peasants. She will believe you, because she wants to believe you.”
“I’ll probably be putting her in danger,” Blackstone said.
“Naturally.”
“But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? Because as far as you’re concerned, she’s expendable.”
“We are all expendable, my dear Blackstone,” Vladimir said. “Surely you should have learned that by now.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Blackstone stepped out into the corridor, the corporal slammed the heavy steel door behind him and turned the key in the lock.
The Inspector wondered how the clang of metal would sound from inside the cell — what feelings it would evoke, whether it might bring just a moment of self-doubt to the man he had left there. Probably not, he decided. Even if he were staring certain and inevitable death in the face — even at the point where all others would long ago have given up hope — Vladimir would still be working feverishly on a plan to extricate himself from the situation.
Blackstone stepped out into the courtyard. He was not surprised to find that his head was spinning, and his brain ached. After fifteen minutes with the Russian, that was only to be expected.
What he needed, he told himself, was a quiet room in which to mull over their conversation — somewhere he could be alone, as he attempted to unravel the complex web of deals and double-dealing which passed as Vladimir’s thought processes. But where should he choose?
Blackstone and the House of Secrets (The Blackstone Detective series Book 3) Page 17
