by Robin White
Idi k’gorizontu . . . Go to the horizon.
Once, Nowek had been a geologist. A geologist is accustomed to chaos, to fragments. The world is like an old building remodeled so many times that nothing makes any sense. The basement is on top, the windows are in the floor, the attic is buried below your feet. A geologist looks at chaos, at nothing. But sometimes if he looks long enough, chaos becomes order, nothing becomes something.
But not all the time. A well-ordered life, a friend, an obligation, meaning, hope. Try putting those pieces back together. Stare all you like. A life can shatter and stay shattered.
The van tipped down. Soon, it came to a stop. The door opened. They were in an underground garage.
The young red-haired officer was carrying a suitcase. Nowek recognized it as his own. His possessions. They really were going to make him vanish down the hole of P-4. What would his daughter say when she found out her father no longer existed?
Levin joined them. “You can walk?”
“Yes.” But then Nowek put too much weight on his injured leg and almost fell. The FSB major helped him to the elevator bank. Nowek scanned the buttons. They were at P-1. The last button at the bottom was labeled P-4.
“My name is Major Levin. I’m with the FSB Directorate of Investigations.”
“Levin’s not a name I would expect to hear in the Lubyanka,” said Nowek. “At least, not on this side of the bars.”
“Times have changed. Nowek is also an unusual name. It’s Polish?”
“Siberian.”
“That used to be the same as Russian.”
“Only in Moscow.”
Levin raised his eyebrows, then nodded at his colleague. “This is Lieutenant Sherbakov. Give him your hands, please.”
Nowek held the cuffs up, and watched in astonishment as Sherbakov unlocked them and took the heavy steel rings off.
Levin pressed five. The elevator began to rise.
“We’re not going to P-4?”
“P-4 is dead records storage.” He nodded at Nowek’s suitcase. “Nothing is missing. You can check.”
Floor three. Sherbakov handed him his suitcase. “I hope you don’t mind. I drove your machine around the block a few times,” he said. “It’s a Pentium. Where did you get it?”
“A friend gave it to me.”
“You want to sell?”
Sell? It seemed like an odd question to ask a man whose wrists were still red with cuff marks. “Am I under arrest?”
Sherbakov was about to answer, but Levin spoke first.
“That depends.”
Nowek opened his suitcase. It was intact. Fresh pants, a shirt. His shoes, the laptop computer Sherbakov had admired. He looked at Levin. “Why did you take me away from the militia?”
“You’re innocent, aren’t you?”
“When did that make a difference here?”
Levin smiled. “We’ll discuss the details of your situation after you change.”
Nowek felt certain they would. The FSB didn’t rescue accused murderers out of kindness. Were they trying to reassure him into a confession? “I didn’t kill Volsky.”
“We know that.”
Nowek waited, and when there was no amplification, he said, “You know?”
The elevator stopped. The doors opened onto a hallway.
No one moved. Finally, Nowek said, “Then I’m free to go?”
“That also depends. The washroom’s the second door on the right,” said Levin.
A lot of things seemed to depend on something, but what? Nowek went in. Sherbakov followed. Nowek walked to the window.
“You could speed up the machine if you partitioned your hard drive,” Sherbakov said. “And don’t stand too close to the window.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t jump.” Nowek let the tap run hot, and scrubbed the crusted blood from his hands, from beneath his fingernails, from his cheeks. The white porcelain swirled with Volsky’s blood. It ran dark, then pale, then fainter, then clear.
“If you did, it would be much more efficient.”
Nowek looked up into the small mirror. “If I jumped?”
“If you partitioned your drive. I could do it. Programs here, files there. I could make it really scream.”
It was an odd thing to say in the Lubyanka, where experts in screams had always found work. Sometimes he missed the old days when irony still had a purpose, when it still had a bite, when the world was terrible, but at least it made sense.
Nowek piled the bloodstained clothes on the floor tiles. He kicked them away and put on fresh pants, a clean shirt, socks, his Nikes. The air was deliciously steamy. He smelled cleaner. His leg was purple with bruises. It throbbed, but he could walk. He was innocent. He was free, but not too free. It all depended.
Sherbakov knocked, then opened Levin’s door. He didn’t follow Nowek in.
Levin had a small office with one window facing a broad, open square. On the far side, Nowek spotted Detsky Mir. The world’s largest toy store. Levin sat behind a cluttered desk. Two file cabinets, one gray, the other black. A picture of an old woman hugging Levin was mounted on the wall. Her face was radiant with unabashed pride. There was a plastic dog with a pivoting whip of a tail on his desk. Levin motioned for Nowek to sit. Two files were open on his desk.
Nowek could see a photo clipped to the one on top. His.
“This is your first visit to Moscow in some time,” said Levin.
“I try to avoid it.”
“The file says the last time you were here was when the Oil and Gas Ministry accused you of selling state secrets to the foreign press. You were fired.”
“It was an oil spill, not a secret. I said it would happen and it did. Nothing was sold. A journalist interviewed me. He was doing his job. I thought I was, too. The Oil and Gas Ministry disagreed.”
“Butting heads is your pattern.” Levin turned a flimsy page, translucent as onion skin. “As mayor of Markovo, you accused high officials of making improper deals with a foreign oil company.”
“They weren’t in Markovo for oil. I thought they should be.”
“Again, removed from your position as mayor.”
“The Irkutsk Prosecutor General was removed from his position to a prison cell. He’s still there.”
“Then, after Markovo, you joined Delegate Volsky’s staff.” Levin looked closely at something on the page, then up at Nowek. “What amazes me is that every time you get into trouble, powerful people end up in prison and you rise. What’s your secret?”
“Sometimes things work the way they should.”
Levin peered. Sometimes things work the way they should. It was more or less what he’d said to Petrov. Maybe the exact words.
“Now I have a question for you,” said Nowek. “If you know I’m innocent, why did you bring me here?”
Levin refocused. “I said you didn’t shoot Delegate Volsky. I didn’t say you were innocent. You were his colleague.”
“And he was my friend. It’s not a crime.”
“Don’t be so sure. You wrote a report for him on mining operations in Mirny.”
“Volsky wasn’t killed over a report.”
“No. Most probably it was over the diamonds themselves. What was your purpose in coming to Moscow?”
The diamonds themselves? “Delegate Volsky was going to meet with Chairman Petrov of the State Diamond Committee.”
Levin flipped a flimsy page and pretended to read, letting the silence ripen. Then “To report on conditions in Mirny?”
“Yes, but also to . . .” He stopped. He was going to say force, but thought better of it. “. . . to urge Petrov to send money to the miners so they can make it through the winter.”
“Maybe he was more interested in the diamonds.”
“Arkasha wouldn’t know a diamond from a piece of glass.”
Levin tossed the file to his desk. “You were a geologist.”
“A petroleum geologist.”
“Why did Volsky need diamond production figures?�
�
“To know how many diamonds Kristall shipped to Moscow so that he would know how much money the miners were owed.”
“Four million carats. It’s correct, by the way. How did you obtain the figure? It’s supposed to be a state secret.”
“Only in Russia. The cartel publishes accurate numbers on the Russian diamonds they buy. I found it there.”
“You received no help from Volsky’s associate in Mirny?”
“No.” Careful. “I used nothing from Mirny.”
“I’m confused. Why would Volsky ask you to hunt for something when he could pick up a phone and find out himself?”
“I don’t know.”
“He told you nothing about his contact in Mirny?”
“He called him his colleague, that time was running out and he’d given his word to bring the miners what they were owed.”
Levin shrugged. “Well, even friends keep secrets from one another. Now tell me about Golden Autumn.”
“It’s already over in Siberia.”
“Not the season,” said Levin. “The diamond company.”
Nowek shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Volsky’s friend in Mirny has been sending them Siberian diamonds na lyeva.” Literally, On the left. Under the table. “He never mentioned Golden Autumn to you?”
“Volsky had no reason to know about diamond companies.”
“Or is it that Volsky had no reason to know of Golden Autumn unless he was helping his colleague sell diamonds?” Levin reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small tape recorder. He pushed it across the desk. “Hit the play button.”
Nowek touched the silver Sony recorder with the tip of one finger, as though an electric current might leap across space and burn him. It was cool to his touch. He saw that a tape was loaded, partially spooled. He touched the play button and the spindles sprang into motion. The original recording was very high quality. His friend’s voice was both clear and unmistakable. Each syllable was a blow, straight to the heart.
“I also want a report on an American company licensed to sell Siberian diamonds. It’s called Golden Autumn.”
“Everything is noted!”
The recording continued, but Nowek wasn’t listening.
“Well?” said Levin. “It seems your good friend kept some secrets from you after all. Maybe there are more.”
Golden Autumn? “Arkady Volsky had nothing to do with selling diamonds under the table.”
“A great many missing stones suggest otherwise.” Levin closed Nowek’s file. “Kristall ships diamonds to Moscow on a special flight that operates under a regime of maximum security. For the last year, while Chairman Petrov has negotiated with the cartel, these flights have continued.”
“What’s missing?”
“Volsky threatened Petrov with selling Siberian stones right from the mine unless money appeared on the table. Petrov was worried enough to order an audit. The audit revealed that Mirny’s shipments contained only industrial diamonds. Four million carats of gems were never sent. Where did they go? To Volsky? We don’t know. But we will.”
Four million carats? Nowek let the idea of that percolate. Not a mountain, as Volsky had thought. His weight times eight. Or seven. You could put it all in the back of a small truck. But immensely, dizzyingly, valuable. “Volsky wasn’t involved.”
“He didn’t know about Golden Autumn, either.” Levin opened another file, this one with a photo of Volsky clipped to the corner. “You missed his meeting with Petrov, so perhaps you don’t know. But Volsky met with a lawyer at Ekipazh. A lawyer who specializes in setting up offshore bank accounts.”
“Arkasha kept his rubles in a pillow.”
“His card was found on Volsky’s body. We’ve talked with him. He’s already admitted to managing offshore accounts in Volsky’s name. Where did Volsky get the money? Perhaps it’s time to face the fact that you didn’t know your good friend so well.”
Accounts? Nowek replayed Levin’s words. Missing stones, overseas accounts, calls to the Kremlin. Volsky? Nowek shook his head. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, you’re wrong.”
“Then let me tell you where we’re right. You and Volsky worked together. Whatever he’s done, people will believe you have also done. I’m giving you a chance to help yourself.”
“By proving Arkasha was a diamond thief?”
“Was he?”
“No!”
“The Siberian Delegate’s pockets were full of unexplained cash. He tried to squeeze the chairman of the State Diamond Committee for more. He met with a representative from an outlaw bank. He made a suspicious call to the Kremlin demanding that incriminating records be placed under his control. A net will be cast and I don’t see how you can avoid it. Think about that.”
“I have. I’ll tell you a story. It happened in my home city of Irkutsk. A truck left a factory one day and took a shortcut across the Angara River instead of driving to the bridge. It’s winter, and the ice is usually five meters thick, but sometimes it’s thinner, especially near Lake Baikal. The river is deep and the current is swift. Halfway across, the truck broke through.”
“What does this have to do with Volsky?”
“I’m coming to that part. Investigators came to find out what was on the truck. They did an inventory. They toured the factory. It was the end of the month. Quota time. A regular panic. The inspectors asked each department, What did you have on that truck? By the end of the day they added up everything. It was no wonder it broke through the ice. That truck weighed nine hundred tons. Every department had met its quota and loaded its parts onto it. Nobody could prove otherwise. With the truck sitting on the bottom, the figures were balanced.”
“You’re saying that because Volsky is dead . . .”
“You’ll put four million carats of Siberian gem diamonds in his pockets. No one has to worry. Especially not the real thieves. And speaking of that, what about Petrov? Who else knew of Volsky’s meeting? Who else assigned us a car and a driver? I wonder. Was it Petrov who discovered the diamonds were gone?”
“Of course. But . . .”
“And now Petrov has someone to blame. Someone sitting on the bottom. Someone who will never be able to clear his own name. All the books balance. Life goes on, at least in Moscow.”
Levin scowled. “I don’t know what will happen to Petrov. But I can tell you that if those diamonds aren’t recovered soon, life will not go on.” Levin stopped. “You have family in Irkutsk?”
“My father lives there.”
“Not your daughter?”
“She’s not in Irkutsk.”
“Why be modest? She’s in America. Visas are hard to come by. Volsky obtained one for her, didn’t he?”
“They’re close. She calls him Uncle Arkasha.”
“Did Uncle Arkasha pay for her trip, too?”
“No.”
“Travel is expensive. When were you last paid?”
“She’s staying with a friend.”
“Did I say that Golden Autumn is in America, too?”
Levin was piling up building blocks. Stone to stone. Volsky, Nowek, Galena. No. “You know, for the first time I’m glad Galena is out of the country. It’s comforting.”
“Don’t be. The Americans would deport her tomorrow if we asked. Don’t think that I would hesitate for even one second.”
Nowek believed that. “What do you want from me, Major?”
“We know Volsky was planning a trip to the diamond zone. What was the purpose of this visit? To meet with his colleague? Maybe Kristall is a bank run by thieves. Maybe you and Volsky were the only honest men in Siberia. All we can say with certainty is that the Siberian Delegate will not be able to fulfill his plans.”
“Plainly.”
Levin turned to face Nowek. “But you can go in his place.”
“To Mirny? Why should I?”
“To find where the trail of missing diamonds begins. To uncover Volsky’s connection at the mine. To learn wher
e the diamonds go and who is responsible for their theft.”
“You admit I had nothing to do with Volsky’s murder. I know Volsky had nothing to do with losing four million carats of diamond. Why shouldn’t I just walk out of here?”
“Go.” Levin pointed at the door. “The Moscow militia hasn’t caught a contract killer in years. You’d never make it to the train station.”
“You’d make sure of it.”
“I wouldn’t have to. Let me suggest an even better reason to go to Mirny. You think Volsky is innocent? You may be the only man left in all of Russia who does. Think of it as an opportunity to prove all of us wrong. It’s the kind of work you’re best at, I think.”
Idi k’gorizontu. Volsky’s final words, his last command. Go to the horizon. What more distant horizon was there than Mirny?
Levin leaned forward. “I’m giving you a way to clear the name of your friend. There’s no time for deep thinking. There’s no time for weighing options. To be frank, you don’t have many.”
Nowek sat back. “You said life would not go on if the stones aren’t recovered. What did you mean?”
Levin tapped the black receiver with a finger, then moved his hand away. “You told me a story of your city? I’ll tell you one from mine. Moscow. Do you remember 1998? August?”
The collapse. “Everyone does.”
“I was at work that Friday. There were rumors about financial troubles, the ruble would fall, that the rich were getting their money out of the country. But then Yeltsin went on television and promised our savings were safe. The ruble would never be devalued. He said the IMF was sending billions of dollars. Everyone figured Russia might explode in November, but for one weekend we could relax and enjoy the sun.”
“I remember.”
“On Monday morning, you could still buy a dollar for six rubles. Then, at eleven in the morning, the IMF said it was holding back funds. The Kremlin allowed the ruble to fall. Excuse me. It didn’t just fall. It imploded. Now it took twenty, thirty rubles to buy a single dollar. The big thieves had all weekend to dump rubles and send their dollars overseas. For everyone else, the story was different. Everything they had vaporized. I went to my own bank. You can probably guess what I found.”