Shadow Pass ip-2

by Sam Eastland

  Pekkala saw the torment in his face. “No more than the plum can choose its taste, Majesty.”

  Now the Tsar smiled. “I will remember that,” he said, and he tossed the flask down to Pekkala.

  Pekkala had been carrying that flask five years later when Bolshevik Guards arrested him at the border, when he tried to flee the country after the Revolution had begun. Although his badge and gun were eventually returned to him, the flask vanished somewhere along the way.

  Since that day out in the twilight in the Alexander Park, the glassy green of Slivovitz had taken on a meaning almost sacred to Pekkala. In a world where a Shadow Pass allowed him to do almost anything he chose, the taste of ripe plums served as a reminder to him of how much he did not control.

  LATE THAT NIGHT, AS PEKKALA SAT ON THE END OF HIS BED, READING his copy of the Kalevala, the phone rang at the end of the hall. There was only one phone on each floor and the calls never came for him there, so he did not even look up from his book. He heard Babayaga’s apartment door open and the patter of Talia’s footsteps as she raced to grab the receiver.

  Nobody liked to be the one who had to go out and answer the phone, especially when it was so late, so an unofficial arrangement had been made that Talia would pick up the call and notify whoever it was for. In exchange for this, the child would receive a small gift of some kind, preferably something made with sugar.

  Then there was more pattering and Pekkala was surprised to hear Talia knocking on his door. “Inspector,” she called, “it’s for you.”

  The first thing Pekkala did when he heard this was to look around the room for something he could give Talia as a present. Spotting nothing, he stood and rummaged in his pockets. He inspected his handful of change.

  “Inspector,” asked Talia, “are you in there?”

  “Yes,” he answered hurriedly. “I’ll be right out.”

  “Are you finding me a present?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then you can take your time.”

  When he opened the door a moment later, she plucked the coin from his hand. “Come along, Inspector!” she urged.

  It was only as Pekkala picked up the receiver that he had time to wonder who might be calling at this hour.

  “Inspector?” said a woman’s voice. “Is that you?”

  “This is Pekkala. Who am I speaking to?”

  “It’s Yelena Nagorski.”

  “Oh!” he said, surprised. “Is everything all right?”

  “Well, no, Inspector, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

  “What is it, Yelena?”

  “Konstantin has learned the reason why my husband and I were splitting up.”

  “But how?”

  “It was Maximov who told him.”

  “Why would he do a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know. He showed up here this evening. Maximov had gotten the idea in his head that he and I should get married.”

  “Married? Was he serious?”

  “I think he was completely serious,” replied Yelena, “but I also think he was completely drunk. I wouldn’t let him in the house. I told him that if he did not go away I would report him to the guards at the facility.”

  “And did he go away?”

  “Not at first. Konstantin came out and ordered him to leave. That was when Maximov told him what had happened between me and Lev Zalka.”

  “But how did Maximov know?”

  “My husband might have told him, and even if he didn’t, Maximov might have figured it out on his own. I always suspected that he knew.”

  “And where is Maximov now?” asked Pekkala.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I think he drove back to the facility, assuming he didn’t run off the road on his way there. Where he might have gone from there I have no idea. The reason I’m calling you, Inspector, is that I have no idea where my son is either. When I had finally persuaded Maximov to leave, I turned around and discovered that Konstantin was gone. He must be out there in the forest. There’s nowhere else for him to go. Konstantin knows his way around those woods in daylight, but it’s pitch-black out there now. I’m worried that he’ll get lost and wander too close to the facility. And you know what is out there, Inspector.”

  An image flashed into Pekkala’s mind of Captain Samarin, impaled upon that rusty metal pipe. “All right, Yelena,” he said. “I’m on my way. In the meantime, try not to worry. Konstantin is a capable young man. I’m sure he knows how to take care of himself.”

  ONE HOUR LATER, AS THE HEADLIGHTS OF THE EMKA BULLDOZED back the darkness on the long road that bordered the testing facility, Pekkala felt a sudden loss of power from the engine. While he was trying to figure out what might have caused it, the engine stumbled again.

  He stared at the dials on the dashboard. Battery. Clock. Speedometer. Fuel. He muttered a curse. The fuel gauge, which had registered three-quarters full when he left the city, now slumped against empty. He remembered the mechanic who had told him the fuel gauge appeared to be sticking and should be replaced. Pekkala wished now that he’d taken the man’s advice. The engine seemed to groan. The headlights flickered. It was as if the car had swooned.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” snapped Pekkala.

  As if to spite him, the engine chose that moment to die completely. Then there was only the sound of the tires rolling to a standstill as he steered the car to the side of the road.

  Pekkala got out and looked around. He cursed in Finnish, which was a language well equipped for swearing. “Jumalauta!” he roared into the darkness.

  The road stretched out ahead, shining dimly in the night mist. On either side, the forest rose black and impenetrable. Stars crowded down to the horizon, hanging like ornaments from the saw-blade tips of the pine trees.

  Pekkala buttoned up his coat and started walking.

  Fifteen minutes later, he reached the main gate.

  Outside the guard shack, the night watchman sat on a little wooden stool, stirring a stick in a fire. The orange light made his skin glow, as if he had been sculpted out of amber.

  “Good evening,” said Pekkala.

  The guard leaped to his feet. The stool tipped over backwards. “Holy Mother of God!” he shouted.

  “No,” said Pekkala quietly. “It’s me.”

  Clumsily, the man regained his balance and immediately rushed into his shack. He reappeared a moment later, carrying a rifle. “Who the hell is out there?” he yelled at the dark.

  “Inspector Pekkala.”

  The guard lowered his rifle and peered at Pekkala through the wire mesh. “You scared me half to death!”

  “My car broke down.”

  This brought the guard to his senses. He set the rifle aside and opened the gate. The metal creaked as it opened.

  “Is Maximov here?” asked Pekkala.

  “He drove in just before sunset. He hasn’t come out since and I’ve been on duty the whole time.”

  “Thank you,” said Pekkala and he headed off down the road towards the facility. A minute later, when he looked back, Pekkala could see the guard back on his stool, sitting by the fire, poking the flames with a stick.

  With only a couple of hours before sunrise, Pekkala arrived at the muddy central yard of the facility. He found Maximov’s car parked outside the mess hut, where workers at the facility took their meals. The door was open. Inside, Pekkala discovered Maximov passed out on the floor, mouth open, breathing heavily. He nudged Maximov’s foot with the toe of his boot.

  “Stop it,” muttered Maximov. “Leave me alone.”

  “Wake up,” said Pekkala.

  “I told you …” Maximov sat up. His head swung in a wobbly arc until he caught sight of Pekkala. “You!” he said. “What do you want?”

  “Yelena Nagorski sent for me. She said you had been causing trouble.”

  “I wasn’t causing trouble,” protested Maximov. “I love her. And I care for her son!”

  “You have a strange way of showing it, Maximov.”
>
  Maximov looked blearily around the room. “I might have said some things I shouldn’t have.”

  Pekkala set his boot against Maximov’s chest. Gently he pushed the man over. “Leave Mrs. Nagorski alone.”

  Maximov settled back onto the floor with a soft thump. “I love her,” he muttered again.

  “Go back to your dreams,” said Pekkala, “while I borrow your car for a while.”

  But Maximov had already fallen asleep.

  Pekkala removed the keys from Maximov’s pocket and had just settled himself in the driver’s seat of Maximov’s car when a door opened in the Iron House and a man ran out towards him.

  It was Gorenko. “Inspector? Is that you? I must speak with you, Inspector! I’ve done a terrible thing! Ushinsky showed up for work just after you and I spoke the other day. When he found out that one of our T-34’s had been sent to the factory for production, he practically went insane. It’s just as I told you he would. He said the prototype wasn’t ready and that we might as well deliver it to the Germans! I tried calling you, Inspector. I wanted you to speak to him, just like we had discussed, but there was no answer at your office, so I called Major Lysenkova instead. I told her what was happening. I said I just needed someone to talk some sense into him. Now I hear he’s been arrested. They’re holding him at the Lubyanka! Inspector, you’ve got to help him.”

  Pekkala had been listening in teeth-clenched silence, but now he finally exploded. “What did you think was going to happen when you called Major Lysenkova?” he shouted. “Nagorski sheltered you from these people when he was alive, because he knew what they were capable of. You’ve been living in a bubble, Professor, out here at this facility. You don’t understand. These people are dangerous, even more dangerous than the weapons you’ve been building for them!”

  “I was at my wit’s end with Ushinsky,” protested Gorenko, wringing his hands. “I just wanted someone to talk to him.”

  “Well, someone has,” said Pekkala, “and now I’ve done all I can for your colleague.”

  “There is something else, Inspector. Something I don’t understand.”

  Pekkala turned the key in the ignition. “It will have to wait!” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

  Gorenko raised his arms in a gesture of exasperation. Then he turned and walked back into the Iron House.

  Pekkala wheeled the car around and drove towards the Nagorski house. As he raced along the muddy road, he wondered again what would become of Yelena and Konstantin now that the T-34 project was completed. Neither of them seemed prepared for the world beyond the gates of this facility. It’s too bad Maximov made such a fool of himself this evening, thought Pekkala. From what he knew about the man, Maximov might have made a good companion for Yelena and a decent father figure for the boy.

  He was lost in these thoughts when suddenly he heard a loud snap and something struck the windshield. His first thought was that a bird had flown into it. This time of night, he told himself, it must have been owl. Cool air whistled in through the cracked glass. Pekkala was just debating whether to drive on or to pull over when the entire windshield exploded. Glass blew all over the inside of the driving compartment. He felt shards bouncing off his coat and a sharp pain in his cheek as a sliver embedded itself in his skin.

  He did not realize he was losing control of the car until it was too late. The back wheels slewed, then the whole car spun in a roar of kicked-up grit and mud. There was a stunning slam, his head struck the side window, and suddenly everything became quiet.

  Pekkala realized he was in the ditch. The car was facing the opposite direction from which he had been driving. Opening the door, he fell out into the wet grass. For a moment, he remained there on his hands and knees, not sure if he could stand, trying to get clear in his head what had happened. He was dizzy from the knock to his head, but he did not think he had been badly hurt. Slowly, he clambered to his feet. Upright, but on shaky legs, he slumped back against the side of the car.

  Then he noticed someone standing in the road. All he could see was the silhouette of a man. “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “You should have left when you could,” said the silhouette.

  The voice was familiar, but Pekkala could not place it.

  Then, out of the black, came the flash of a gunshot.

  In that same instant, Pekkala heard the clank of a bullet striking the car door beside him.

  “I warned you, Maximov!”

  “I’m not Maximov!” shouted Pekkala.

  The shadow walked towards him. It stood at the edge of the ditch, looking down at Pekkala. “Then who are you?”

  Now Pekkala placed the voice. “Konstantin,” he said, “it’s me. Inspector Pekkala.”

  The two were close enough now that Pekkala could make out the boy’s face and the pistol aimed at his chest.

  From the short barrel with its slightly rounded end and the angled trigger guard joining the barrel at the front like the web of a man’s thumb, Pekkala recognized the weapon they’d been searching for. It was Nagorski’s PPK. In that moment, the truth came crashing down upon Pekkala. “What have you done, Konstantin?” he stammered as he climbed up out of the ditch.

  “I thought you were Maximov. I saw his car …”

  “I am talking about your father!” snarled Pekkala. He pointed at the PPK, still gripped in Konstantin’s fist. “We know that’s the weapon which was used to kill Colonel Nagorski. Why did you do it, Konstantin?”

  For what seemed like a long time, the boy did not reply.

  Their breathing fogged the air between them.

  Slowly, Pekkala held out his hand. “Son,” he said, “there is nowhere you can go.”

  Hearing these words, Konstantin’s eyes filled with tears. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed the PPK upon Pekkala’s open hand.

  Pekkala’s fingers closed around the metal. “Why did you do it?” he repeated.

  “Because it was his fault,” said Konstantin. “At least, I thought it was.”

  “What happened on that day?”

  “It was my birthday. The week before, when my father asked me what I wanted, I told him I would like a ride in the tank. At first he said it was impossible. My mother would never allow it. But then he said that if I promised not to tell her, he would take me out in the machine, out into the proving ground. My mother thought he had forgotten about the birthday altogether. They started arguing. By then, I almost didn’t care.”

  “Why not?” asked Pekkala.

  “Maximov sent me a letter. A letter in a birthday card.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “He told me that my parents were splitting up. He said he thought I should know, because they weren’t going to tell me themselves.”

  “They were going to tell you,” said Pekkala, “as soon as you moved back to Moscow. It was for the best, Konstantin. Besides, this was none of Maximov’s business. And why would he tell you on your birthday?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Konstantin. “For news like that, one day is as bad as another.”

  “Do you still have that letter?”

  Konstantin pulled a canvas wallet out of his pocket. From a jumble of crumpled bills and coins, he removed the folded letter. “I must have read it a hundred times by now. I keep waiting for the words to tell me something different.”

  Pekkala looked at the letter. He couldn’t read it very well in the dark, but from what he could see, it was exactly as Konstantin described. “May I keep this for a while?” he asked.

  “I don’t need it anymore,” the boy whispered. He seemed close to tears. Everything seemed to be catching up with him at once.

  “Did you tell your parents what was in the letter?” asked Pekkala, folding the page and placing it inside his ID book for safekeeping.

  “What would be the point of that?” asked Konstantin. “I was always afraid they would break up. When I read the letter, a part of me already knew. And I knew Maximov would never lie. He looked a
fter me. More than my own parents.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I met up with my father, just as we had planned. He brought me to the proving ground and let me drive the tank, through the puddles, over the bumps, sliding around in the mud. My father was enjoying himself. It was one of the few times I had ever seen him laughing. I should have been enjoying myself, too, but all I could think about was Maximov’s letter. The more I thought about it, the more angry I became with my father, that he had chosen this damned machine over our family. I couldn’t stand the thought of him hurting me and my mother any more than he’d already done. We stopped the tank out in the middle of the proving ground, in the middle of a muddy pit. We sank down into it. I thought the water would pour in at any moment. I was afraid we were going to drown inside that tank. But my father wasn’t even worried. He said this machine could drive through anything. We couldn’t hear each other properly. It was too noisy in the driving compartment. So we kept the engine running, put the gears in neutral, and climbed out on top of the turret.”

  “And what happened then?” asked Pekkala.

  “He turned to me, and suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. ‘Whatever happens,’ he said, ‘I want you to know that I love your mother very much.’ He started to climb back inside. That was when the gun fell out of his pocket. It landed on the back of the tank, just above the engine compartment. Because I was closest to it, my father asked me to fetch the pistol, so I did. Until I picked up the gun, I hadn’t thought about hurting him, I swear it. But then I started thinking about what he had just said—about loving my mother. I couldn’t bear to let him tell me such a lie and get away with it. He was standing on the turret with his back to me, looking out over that muddy field as if it was the most beautiful place on earth.”

  “And that was when you shot him?”

  The boy didn’t answer his question. “I had been so furious with him only a second before, but when I saw him fall into the water, all of that anger suddenly evaporated. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I don’t know how to say this, Inspector, but even with the gun in my hand, I wasn’t even sure I had done it. It was as if someone else had pulled the trigger. I don’t know how long I stood there. It felt like a long time, but it may only have been a few seconds. Then I climbed back inside the tank, put it in gear and tried to drive it out of the pit.”