by Boris Akunin
The answer came immediately - the door swung open and the deputy director of police himself rushed into the room, not only alive, but apparently quite unharmed.
'Well, at last!' he exclaimed in sincere delight. 'The doctor assured me that there was nothing broken and your faint was the result of nervous shock. He promised that you would soon recover consciousness, but you stubbornly refused to come round - it was quite impossible to rouse you. I'd begun to think you were going to turn into a genuine sleeping beauty and ruin my entire plan. You have been reclining at your leisure for a whole day and night! I never thought you had such delicate nerves.'
So this was the next night. Following the Flight of the Hawk Erast Petrovich's spirit and corporeal shell had required more than twenty-four hours of rest.
'I have some questions,' the State Counsellor hissed inaudibly.
He cleared his throat and said it again, in a voice that was hoarse but intelligible. 'I have some questions. Before we were interrupted, you said that you had picked up the Combat Group's trail. How did you manage that? That is one. What measures have you taken while I was sleeping? That is two. What is this plan of which you speak? That is three. How did you manage to escape? That is four.'
'I escaped in an original manner, which I omitted to describe in my report to our supreme ruler. By the way' - Pozharsky raised one finger significantly - 'there has been a fundamental change in our status. Following yesterday's attempt on our lives, we are now obliged to inform His Imperial Highness's chancellery directly of the progress of the investigation. Ah, look who I'm telling! A man like you, so far removed - as yet - from the exalted empyrean of St Petersburg, is quite incapable of appreciating the significance of this event.'
'I take your word for it. Then what was this manner? You were undressed and unarmed, as I was. You ran to the right, in the direction of the main entrance, but you wouldn't have had time to reach it; the terrorists would have filled your back full of holes.'
'Of course. And therefore I did not run towards the main entrance,' Gleb Georgievich said with a shrug. 'Naturally, I ducked into the ladies' section. I managed to skip through the changing room and the soaping room, although my indecent state provoked a great hullabaloo. But the fully clothed gentlemen who were chasing after me were less fortunate. The entire wrath of humanity's lovelier half was unleashed on their heads. I believe my pursuers were given a taste of boiling water, and sharp nails, and fierce jabs. In any case, there was no longer anyone pursuing me along the alley, although the promenading public did pay my modest person certain signs of attention. Fortunately, I did not have to run far to reach the police station, otherwise I should have been transformed into a snowman. The most difficult thing was persuading the officer in charge that I was the deputy director of police. But how did you manage to get out? - I've been racking my brains over that; I've combed every nook and cranny at Petrosov's, but I still can't understand it. The only place you can reach by the stairway that you ran up is the roof!'
'I was simply lucky,' Erast Petrovich replied evasively, and shuddered at the memory of that step into the empty void. He had to admit that the cunning Petersburgian had found a simpler and more ingenious way out of their difficulty.
Pozharsky opened the wardrobe and started throwing clothes on to the bed.
'Choose whatever fits you. And in the meantime, tell me this. Back there in room number six, you said that you were expecting the answer to the riddle very shortly. Does that mean you had anticipated the possibility of an attack? And was it supposed to tell you who the traitor is?'
Fandorin paused before he nodded.
And who exactly was it?'
The prince looked searchingly at the State Counsellor, who had suddenly gone very pale.
'You have still not answered all of my questions,' Fandorin said eventually.
'Very well, then.' Pozharsky sat down on a chair and crossed his legs. 'I'll start from the very beginning. Naturally, you were right about the double agent, I realised that immediately. And, like yourself, I had only one suspect: our mysterious Diana.'
'B-But then why—'
Pozharsky raised his hand to indicate that he had anticipated the question and was about to answer it.
'So that you would not be concerned about any rivalry from my side. I confess, Erast Petrovich, that I am something of a moral freethinker. But then, you've known that for a long time already. Did you really think that I would go chasing around like a little puppy-dog, asking all the police agents and cab drivers idiotic questions? No, I inconspicuously installed myself in your wake, and you led me to the modest little townhouse on Arbat Street where our Medusa has her lodging. And don't go raising your eyebrows so indignantly! Of course, what I did was improper, but you know, your behaviour was not exacdy comradely, was it? - telling me about Diana, but keeping the address secret? Is that what "working together" means?'
Fandorin decided it would be pointless to take offence. Firstly, this descendant of the Varangians had absolutely no concept of what conscience was. And secondly, it was his own fault - he ought to be more observant.
'I gave you the right of the first night,' the prince said with a mischievous smile. 'You, however, did not linger for long in the delightful rose's abode. But when you left the said abode you had such a satisfied look that I felt quite wickedly envious. Could Fandorin really have gutted her already, I wondered, as quickly as that? But no, from the way the enchantress behaved, I realised that you had come away with nothing.'
'You spoke with her?' asked the State Counsellor, astonished.
Pozharsky laughed, apparently deriving genuine pleasure from this conversation.
'Not only spoke - Good Lord, his eyebrows have shot up again! You have a reputation as Moscow's leading Don Juan, and yet you don't understand women at all. Our poor Diana had been orphaned; she suddenly felt abandoned and unwanted. She used to have such distinguished, influential suitors hovering around her, but now she was just an ordinary collaborator, except that she had taken her dangerous game too far. Did she not try to make you her new protector? There, I can see from your blush that she did. I am not so conceited as to imagine that she fell in love with me at first glance. But you spurned the poor woman, and I did not. For which I was rewarded in full measure. Ladies, Erast Petrovich, are at the same time far more complicated and far simpler than we think.'
'Then Diana was the traitor?' Fandorin gasped. 'It's not possible!'
'She was, she was, my dear chap. In psychological terms it is very easy to explain, especially now, when all the circumstances have become clear. She imagined that she was Circe, the sovereign mistress of all men. It was exceedingly flattering to her vanity that she could toy just as she chose with the fate of such dread organisations, and the very Empire itself. I believe that gave Diana quite as much erotic pleasure as her amorous adventures did. Or, rather, they complemented each other.'
'But how did you manage to make her c-confess?' asked Erast Petrovich, still stunned.
'I told you: women are constituted far more simply than Messrs Turgenev and Dostoevsky would have us believe. Forgive my vulgar boasting, but in the hierarchy of love, I am not a mere aide-de-camp, but a field marshal at least. I know how to drive a woman insane, especially if she is greedy for sensual pleasure. At first I employed all my talents to transform Mademoiselle Diana into a melting ice cream, then I was suddenly transformed from syrup into steel. I adduced the facts in my possession and frightened her a little, but most effective of all was the sunlight. I drew back the curtains and her strength was drained completely, like a vampire's.'
'B-But why? Did you see her face? And who was she?'
'Oho, you'll find that very interesting,' said the prince, laughing at something or other. 'You'll realise straightaway what all the mystery was about. But we'll come back to that later. Well then, it turned out that Diana was getting secret information from Burlyaev and Sverchinsky and transmitting it to the terrorists in the Combat Group by means of notes. She sig
ned her notes "TG", which means Terpsichore the Goddess, who, as you no doubt remember, lived with the other Muses on Mount Helicon. Quite an original touch of humour, don't you think?' Pozharsky sighed. 'It was only afterwards that I realised why she launched into her confessions so readily. She knew about our meeting at the baths and was certain that neither you nor I would emerge from it alive. She calculated that I would want to use her to catch the terrorists. And she was right. An artful creature, I grant her that. No doubt she had a good laugh at my air of triumph as well.'
'So you told her that you and I would be in room number six?' Erast Petrovich asked, his face brightening.
But the bright little ray of hope was immediately extinguished.
'That's just the point: I didn't. I didn't tell Diana anything about that at all. But she did know about our meeting, there's no doubt at all about it. Later that night, when I went back to Diana's, ablaze with the thirst for vengeance, she gaped at me as if I had risen from hell. That was when I realised. She knew, the vile beast, she knew. But this time I acted more cleverly and left one of my men to watch her. While one was here, on guard duty with you, the other was watching Diana. But really, how did she find out about room number six?' Pozharsky asked, returning to the unpleasant subject. 'You didn't tell anyone in the Department or the Office, did you? She must have someone else, apart from Burlyaev and Sverchinsky.'
'No, I didn't t-tell anyone in the Department or the Office about room number six,' Fandorin replied, choosing his words carefully.
The prince inclined his head to one side: his straw-coloured hair and his coal-black eyes made him look like a performing poodle.
'Well, well. And now for my plan, in which you have been given absolutely the most pivotal part to play. Thanks to the insidious Diana, we know where the Combat Group is hiding. In fact the apartment belongs to Diana, but our collaborator has not lived there for a long time. She finds life more interesting beneath an official roof.'
'You know where the CG is hiding?' Erast Petrovich froze with his arm halfway into the sleeve of a blue frock coat that appeared to be cut to his size. 'And you haven't detained them yet?'
'Do I look to you like that idiot Burlyaev, God rest his soul?' the prince asked with a reproachful shake of his head. 'There are seven of them, all armed to the teeth. It would be another battle of Borodino; we'd have to rebuild Moscow again afterwards, like they did in the twelfth century. No, Erast Petrovich. We'll take them nice and neatly, and choose a time and place that suit us.'
Having finished dressing, Fandorin sat down on the bed, facing the enterprising deputy director of police, and prepared to listen.
'This evening, about three hours ago, another note was left at our partisans' apartment. What it said was: "You botched it. You let them both get away. But you have a chance to redeem your error. Pozharsky and Fandorin are having another secret meeting tomorrow. In Briusov Square, at nine in the morning." After the miraculous agility that you and I demonstrated at the baths, Mr Green will throw his entire army against us, we need have no doubt about that. Do you know Briusov Square, with the public park?'
'Yes. An excellent place f-for an ambush,' the State Counsellor admitted. 'In the morning it is empty; no innocent bystanders will be hurt. Blank walls on three sides. The marksmen can be positioned on the roofs.'
And on the battlements of the St Simeon Monastery - the archimandrite has already given his blessing for such a godly cause. As soon as they enter the square, we seal off the street too. We'll manage without any gendarmes. At dawn the Flying Squad arrives from St Petersburg, I've summoned them. They're genuine Mamelukes, the cream of the Police Department, the best of the best: Not a single terrorist will get away; we'll wipe them out to the last man.'
Erast Petrovich frowned: 'Without even t-trying to arrest them?'
Are you joking? We have to fire without warning, in salvoes. Shoot them all, like mad dogs. Otherwise we'll lose some of our men.'
'It's our men's job to risk their lives,' the State Counsellor declared obstinately. And it's illegal to carry through an operation like this without giving them a chance to lay down their arms.'
'Damn you, then we'll give them a chance. Only you must realise that the risk to you will be greater as a result.' Pozharsky smiled mischievously and explained: 'Under the plan of action you, my dearest Erast Petrovich, have been awarded the honourable role of the live bait. You will sit on a bench, supposedly waiting for me. Let the CG start to nibble and move in a bit closer to you. They won't kill you before I put in an appearance. After all - pardon my lack of modesty - for them the deputy director of police is a daintier morsel than a Moscow functionary, even if he does deal with special assignments. But I shall not present myself to their gaze until the trap has snapped shut. I shall observe all the requirements of the law. Of course, they won’t even think of surrendering, but my announcement will be the signal for you to jump up and take shelter’
T-Take shelter? Where?' asked Fandorin, screwing up his blue eyes. He had found Gleb Georgievich's plan excellent in absolutely every respect, except one: for a certain State Counsellor the road from the park in Briusov Square would lead directly to the cemetery.
'Did you think I'd decided to leave you there, facing a hail of bullets?' Pozharsky asked in an offended tone. 'All the preparations have already been made; they couldn't possibly be improved upon. You sit on the third bench from the entrance to the square. To the right of it is a snowdrift. And under the snow is a pit. In fact, it's the beginning of a trench that leads back all the way to the street. They're going to lay sewer pipes in it. I ordered the trench to be covered over with boards and then piled over with snow, it's invisible now. But there's only thin plywood under the snowdrift beside the bench. As soon as I appear in the square, you jump straight into the snow and astound the watching terrorists by disappearing through the ground. Then you make your way along the trench under the battlefield to the street and climb out, without a scratch. How's that for a plan?' the prince asked proudly, and then suddenly became concerned. 'Or perhaps you're not well after all? Or you don't wish to expose yourself to such a risk. If you are afraid, then speak out. No need to put on a brave face.'
'It's a good p-plan. And the risk is quite moderate.'
Fandorin was in the grip of a feeling stronger than fear. The imminent operation, the risk, the shooting - they were all trifles in comparison with the weight that had suddenly come crashing down on Erast Petrovich: the terrorists had burst into room number six, not any other, and there could be only one explanation ...
'I have a suggestion,' said the prince, pulling his watch out of his waistcoat pocket by the chain. The hour is already late, but I assume you have slept your fill, and I can never get to sleep before a serious operation. Nerves. Why don't we pay a visit to our lovely little recluse? I'll show her to you in the light. I can promise you will find the effect most impressive.'
The State Counsellor gritted his teeth. These final words, which seemed to him to be spoken in a deliberately casual manner, had finally torn the veil away from poor Erast Petrovich's eyes.
Oh God! How could You be so cruel"?
That was the reason for the darkness and the veil, the reason for the whispering!
And Pozharsky's behaviour finally made sense. Why would such an ambitious man have waited until his colleague finally came round? He could have invented a different plan of operations, without involving the Moscow functionary at all. Then he would not have had to share the glory. But apparendy he would not have to anyway. The last thing Fandorin would be interested in was glory.
Pozharsky was not merely a careerist. Success in his job was not enough for him: he needed the feeling of victory over everything and everyone. He always had to be the first. And now he had an excellent opportunity to trample down and destroy a man whom he was bound to see as a serious rival.
And there was nothing with which Fandorin could reproach the prince - except perhaps excessive cruelty; but that was an intrinsic f
eature of his character.
The doomed State Counsellor got to his feet, ready to drain the cup of humiliation to the dregs.
'Very well, let's go.'
The door of the Arbat Street townhouse opened as they approached. A quiet gentleman, who looked very much like the one who had been sitting by the bed, bowed briefly and announced: 'She's in the study. I locked the door. I took her to the water closet once. She asked for water twice. That's all.' 'I see, Korzhikov. You can go back to the hotel. Catch up on your sleep. His Excellency and I will manage on our own here.' And he winked conspiratorially at Erast Petrovich, provoking in him a fleeting but very powerful desire to take the scoffer's neck in both hands and snap the vertebrae that link together body and soul.
'Now, I shall introduce you anew to the celebrated breaker of men's hearts, actress of unsurpassed talent and mysterious beauty' Pozharsky laughed malevolently as he set off up the stairs first.
He unlocked the familiar door, stepped inside and turned the lever of the gas bracket. The room was flooded with gently flickering light.
'Well, mademoiselle, why don't you turn round?' Gleb Georgievich asked derisively, addressing an individual whom Fandorin, still in the corridor, could not see.
'What!' the prince suddenly roared. 'Korzhikov, you dolt, I'll see you in court for this!'
He darted into the room and from the doorway the State Counsellor saw a slim female figure standing motionless, facing the window. The woman's head was inclined melancholically to one side, and the figure only appeared motionless at first glance. A second glance revealed that it was swaying slightly from side to side, and the feet were not quite touching the floor.