by Boris Akunin
Green had seen two of them in the tea rooms on Maroseika Street: Nail, a worker from the Guzhonov plant, and Marat, a medical student. All they had managed to do there was give themselves away by staring too hard at Rahmet in their eagerness. The other four - Arsenii, Beaver, Schwartz and Nobel (the last two, both chemistry students, had chosen their aliases in honour of the inventors of gunpowder and dynamite) - looked scarcely more than boys. But they would be up against experienced guards. He hoped the guards wouldn't mow down the entire junior school.
Julie was sitting in the corner, with her eyebrows knitted in studious concentration. There was no reason at all for her to be there. As he looked at her, Green felt himself blushing, something that hadn't happened to him for more than ten years. With an effort of will, he drove the scorching memories of what had happened that day deeper, for analysis at some later time. His self-esteem and the strength of his protective shell had suffered substantial damage, but he was sure it could all be restored. He just had to think of a way. Not now. Later.
He cast a glance at Ace - not of guilt, but of appraisal. How would the specialist react if he knew? Obviously, the operation would be wrecked, since in the terms of criminal morality Ace had suffered a deadly insult. That was the main danger, Green told himself; but, glancing at Julie again, he suddenly had doubts: was it really? No, the main danger, of course, lay in her.
She had broken his steely will and iron discipline with ease. She was life itself, and everyone knew that life was stronger than any rules or dogmas. Grass grew through asphalt, water wore holes in rocks, a woman could soften the hardest of hearts. Especially a woman like that.
It had been a mistake to let Julie into the revolutionary movement. Mirthful pink playmates like that, who held out the promise of joyful oblivion, were not for the crusaders of the revolution. The travelling companions for them were steely-grey Amazons. Like Needle.
She was the one who ought to be sitting there, not Julie, who only distracted the men from the job with her bright plumage. But Needle had taken offence. She had brought the men to the apartment and left without waiting for Green. It was his fault again - he had spoken clumsily to her on the telephone.
'Well, why have you all pleated up your foreheads like accordions?' Ace laughed, wiping his dirty fingers on his black trousers of expensive English wool. 'Don't get the sulks, revolution! A hold-up needs gumption, not sour faces. You have to go at it cheerily, with your spirits up. And if anyone swallows a lead pellet, it means his time was up. Dying young is as sweet as honey. When you're old and sick it's frightening, but for one of us it's just like downing a glass of vodka on a frosty day: it stings, but not for long. You gulls don't even have to do much; Green and me will see to all the important stuff. And then it goes like this ...' - he turned to speak directly to Green. 'We sling the loot into the sleigh and scram, we go to the India Inn, where Julietta will be waiting for us. It's a trading place, a market; nobody will be surprised to see sacks there. While I'm driving the horse, you have to cover the official seals with plain sackcloth, no one will ever twig it's not bay leaves we're carrying, but six hundred grand. Once we're inside, we divvy up. Like we agreed: two for me, four for you. And then adieu, until we meet again, but not too soon. Ace will be on the spree for a long time with that kind of loot.' He winked at Julie. 'We'll go to Warsaw, then on to Paris and from there - anywhere you like.'
Julie smiled tenderly and affectionately at him, then smiled at Green in exacdy the same way. It was incredible, but Green could not read even a hint of guilt or embarrassment in her eyes.
'Now leave,' he said, getting to his feet. 'First Ace and Julie.
Then Nail and Marat. Then Schwartz, Beaver and Nobel.'
He gave them his final instructions as he saw them off in the hallway, trying to speak clearly, without swallowing his words.
'Throw the beam across at ten minutes to, no sooner and no later. Or the yard-keepers might roll it away ... Fire without breaking cover. Stick one hand out and blaze away. You don't need to shoot them, just deafen them and keep them busy ... The most important thing is that none of you should catch a bullet. There'll be no time to carry away any wounded. And we can't leave anyone behind. Anyone who's wounded and can't walk has to shoot himself. Do as Rahmet and Emelya tell you.'
When the last three had left, Green locked the door and was about to go back into the study when he suddenly noticed the corner of something white sticking out of the pocket of his black coat that was hanging on the hallstand.
Immediately realising what it was, he froze on the spot and instructed his heart not to falter in its rhythm. He took out the sheet of paper, lifted it up very close to his eyes (it was dark in the hallway) and read:
The city is sealed off by gendarmes. You must not show yourself at the railway stations and turnpikes. The blockade is under the command of Colonel Sverchinsky. Tonight he will be at the Nikolaevsky Station, in the duty stationmaster's office. Try to exploit this and strike to create a diversion.
And most important of all: beware of Rahmet, he is a traitor.
TG
Noting in passing that this note was not typed on an Underwood, like the previous ones, but on a Remington, Green began rubbing his forehead to make his brain work faster.
'Green, what are you doing out there?' he heard Emelya's voice call. 'Come here!'
'One moment!' he shouted back. 'I'll just go to the lavatory'
In the water closet he leaned against the marble wall and began counting off the points to consider, starting with the least important.
Where had the letter come from? When had it arrived? When Green went to the station he was wearing Rahmet's short coat, not his own black one - he had taken a bomb with him just in case, and Rahmet's coat had handy pockets. The black coat had been hanging on the hallstand all day long. That narrowed the circle somewhat. Everyone who was in St Petersburg could be excluded. And so could the Moscow lads - provided, of course, that TG was a single person, and not two or more. Perhaps this 'G' stood for 'group' too? Terrorist Group? Meaningless. All right, he'd think about it later.
Sverchinsky. It was an excellent idea - if not for the ex. Kill a high-ranking gendarme officer and at the same time divide the police's attention. A diversionary strike was just what was required. After all, the important thing was not to escape from Moscow themselves, but to get the money through. Time was short. But would they have enough men for both operations? That would only be clear after the ex.
And then he came to the most difficult thing in the note: the part underlined in blue pencil.
Rahmet, a traitor? Was that possible?
Yes, Green told himself. It was.
That would explain the glint of challenge and triumph in Rahmet's eyes. He hadn't been broken by the gendarmes, he was working his way into a new role. Mephistopheles, Dick Turpin or whoever he imagined himself to be.
But what if TG's information was wrong? TG had never been wrong before, but this was a matter of a comrade's life.
Since the day before, Green had made sure that Rahmet didn't leave the apartment. Today he had ordered Emelya to keep a close eye on the former Uhlan to see if he started acting suspiciously after his nocturnal escapade.
The plan had been to give Rahmet the riskiest job at the expropriation. What could be better than action for showing if a man was honest or not? But as things stood now, he couldn't take Rahmet to the ex.
Having reached his decision, Green pressed the copper knob of the flush mechanism, that latest innovation of sanitary technology, and walked out of the lavatory.
Rahmet, Emelya, Bullfinch and Arsenii, the son of the apartment's absent owner, were standing in front of the charcoal diagram.
Aha, at last,' said Bullfinch, his eyes aglow with excitement as he turned to Green. 'We're worried about whether you and Ace can manage. After all, there are only two of you, and there's an entire gang of us.'
'It's far too risky,' said Rahmet, supporting the boy. And then, aren't you tru
sting this Rocambole from a priest's family a bit too far? What if he does a flit with the money? Let me go with you, and Emelya can throw the bomb.'
'No, I'll throw the bomb!' Bullfinch exclaimed. 'Emelya has to give the lads their orders.'
Is it the danger he's afraid of, or something else? Green thought, about Rahmet. In a dry voice that brooked no objections, he said: Ace and I will manage, just the two of us. Emelya will throw the bomb. Once it's thrown, run round the corner. Don't wait for it to explode. Just yell first, so everyone knows you've thrown it. Get down behind the wall and tell them when to shoot. And Rahmet's not going to the expropriation.'
'What do you mean by that?' Rahmet exclaimed furiously.
'You can't go,' Green explained. 'It's your own fault. They're looking for you. All the police agents have your description. You'll only get us killed. Stay here, by the telephone.'
They moved off at a quarter past four - a little earlier than they were supposed to.
Outside in the yard, Green looked back.
Rahmet was standing at the window. He saw Green looking and waved.
They walked out of the gateway into the lane. 'Damn,' said Green. 'Forgot my cleaning rod. Got to have it -what if a cartridge gets stuck?'
Crimson-faced with excitement, Bullfinch chirped up: 'Let me run and get it. Where did you leave it? On the locker, right?' And he turned to dash off; but Emelya grabbed hold of his collar.
'Stop, you little hothead! You can't go back. This is your first operation - it's a bad sign.'
'Wait in the sleigh, I'll just be a moment,' Green said and turned back.
He didn't walk straight out into the yard; first he glanced out cautiously from the gateway. There was no one standing at the window.
He ran quickly across the yard and up the stairs to the piano nobile. The door had been specially oiled and it didn't squeak.
Leaving his boots on the staircase, he walked into the apartment without making a sound. He crept stealthily past the dining room and heard Rahmet's voice from the study, where the telephone was.
'Yes, yes, twelve, seventy-four. And quickly, please, miss, this is an urgent matter ... Security? Is that the Department of Security? I need—'
Green cleared his throat.
Rahmet dropped the mouthpiece and spun round.
For a moment his face looked odd - without any expression at all. Green realised Rahmet didn't know if the fatal words had been overheard and didn't know what part he ought to play -comrade or traitor. So that was what Rahmet's real face looked like. Blank. Like a classroom blackboard that has been cleaned with a dry rag, leaving dusty white smears.
But the face was only blank for a second. Rahmet realised that he had been found out, the corners of his mouth extended into a mocking leer and his eyes narrowed contemptuously.
'What is it, Greeny - don't trust your comrade-in-arms then? Well, well, I never expected that from an old softy like you. Why are you standing to attention like a little tin soldier?'
Green stood there stock-still with his arms at his sides and didn't even move a muscle when the cornflower-blue man snatched a Bulldog revolver out of his pocket.
'What are you doing here on your own?' Rahmet lisped, '- without Emelya or little Bullfinch? Or did you come to prick my conscience? The trouble is, Greeny old boy, I don't have a conscience. You know that. A pity, but now I'll have to eliminate you. Handing you in alive would have been far more impressive. What are you gawping at? I hate you, you blockhead.'
There was only one thing Green still had to find out - whether Rahmet had been collaborating with the Okhranka for a long time or had only been recruited yesterday.
He asked him: 'How long?'
'Let's say from the very beginning. You lifeless, long-faced bastards have made me feel sick for ages. And especially you, you thick-headed dolt! Yesterday I met a man far more interesting than you.'
'What does "TG" mean?' Green asked, just in case.
'Eh?' Rahmet said in surprise. 'What's that you say?'
There were no more questions, and Green didn't waste any more time. He flung the knife that was clutched in his right hand and dropped to the floor, to avoid being winged by a shot.
But there was no shot.
The Bulldog fell on the carpet as Rahmet clutched with both hands at the handle protruding from the left side of his chest. He lowered his head, gazing in amazement at the incongruous object, and tore it out of the wound. Blood flooded the entire front of his shirt; Rahmet stared round the room with blank, unseeing eyes and collapsed on to his face ...
'Let's go,' said Green, taking a running jump into the sleigh, flopping into his seat and then slipping the small chest under it. The chest held everything they needed: detonators, false documents, spare guns. 'The rod fell under a chair. Barely managed to find it. Together as far as Khludovsky Lane. You get out there, I go on to meet Ace. And one more thing: don't come back here. After the ex, go to the lineman's place. And Arsenii too.'
Ace was already strolling along the pavement dressed as an undistinguished commercial traveller in a beaver-skin peaked cap, short coat, checked trousers and foppish white-felt boots. Green was dressed, as they had agreed, like a shop assistant. 'Where the hell have you been?' the specialist shouted at Green, getting into his role. 'Tether the horse over there and get yourself over here.'
When Green came close, the bandit winked and said in a low voice: 'Well, you and I make a right pair. When I was still a young 'un I used to like fleecing geese like us. If only you could see Julietta - you'd never recognise her. I dolled her up like a real common little lady, so they wouldn't gape at her in the India. What a ruckus - a real scandal! Didn't want to make herself look ugly, no way she didn't.'
Green turned away in order not to waste time on idle conversation. He surveyed their position and decided it was ideal. The specialist knew his job all right.
Narrow Nemetskaya Street, along which the carriage would arrive, ran in a straight line all the way from Kukuisky Bridge. They'd be able to see the convoy from a distance, and there'd be plenty of time to take a good look and get ready.
Lying across the road just in front of the crossroads was a long timber beam of exactly the right thickness - a man on horseback would ride by without any trouble, but a sleigh would have to stop. Fifty paces further back on the right there was a gap between the buildings: Somovsky Cul-de-Sac. The gunmen should be there already, waiting in ambush behind the stone wall of the churchyard. A head appeared round the corner: Emelya, taking a look.
Ace's plan was a good one - sound and simple: there was no reason to expect any complications.
It wasn't quite getting dark yet, but the light at the edges of the sky was already dimming slighdy, turning a murky grey. In half an hour the twilight would thicken, but by then the operation would already be over, and darkness would be very handy for the disengagement.
'It's five o'clock,' Ace announced, clicking shut the lid of an expensive watch on a thick platinum chain. 'They're just leaving the despatch room. We'll see them in about five minutes.'
He was taut and collected, his eyes sparkling merrily. Fate had played a cruel joke on the archpriest by planting a wolf cub like that in his family. Green was suddenly struck by an interesting theoretical question: what was to be done with characters like Ace in a free, harmonious society? Nature would still carry on producing a certain proportion of them, wouldn't she? And innate natural traits couldn't always be corrected by nurture.
There would still be dangerous professions, he thought; people with an adventurous bent would still be needed. That was where Ace and his kind would come in useful: for exploring the depths of the sea, conquering impregnable mountain peaks, testing flying machines. And later, after about another fifty years, there would be other planets to explore. There would be plenty of work for everyone.
'Clear off!' Ace shouted at a yard-keeper who was grunting as he struggled to roll the beam aside. 'That's ours; the cart'll be back in a minute to pick it
up. Ah, these people, always looking for something they can pick up without paying for it.'
Faced with this furious assault, the yard-keeper withdrew behind his iron gates, leaving the street completely deserted.
'The money's coming; our little darlings are on their way,' Ace drawled in an unctuous voice. 'You get across to the other side. And don't go too early. Take your lead from me.'
At first all they could see was a long, dark blob; then they could make out individual figures - everything was exactly as Ace had said it would be.
At the front - two mounted guards with carbines over their shoulders.
Behind them - the despatch office's financial instruments carriage: a large enclosed sleigh, with a driver and two other men, a constable and a delivery agent.
Riding beside the carriage - more armed guards, two on the right, two on the left. And bringing up the rear of the convoy was a sleigh, which they couldn't make out clearly from where they were standing. It ought to be carrying another four guards with carbines.
Emelya came out from round the corner and leaned against the wall, watching the procession as it passed by. He was holding a small package: the bomb.
Green stroked the fluted handle of his Colt with his finger as he waited for the front riders to notice the beam and come to a halt. The clock above the pharmacy showed nine minutes past five.
The horses stepped indifferently over the barrier and ran on, but the driver of the carriage roared out 'Whoah!' and pulled hard on his reins.
'Where are you going?' the constable yelled, half-rising to his feet. 'Can't you see that beam? Dismount and drag it out of the way. And you give a hand too,' he added, nudging the driver.