They had a late breakfast, or rather brunch, consisting of an array of delicious little freshly baked pies, or piroshki, with various savory fillings, as well as fresh fruit and thick creamy yoghurt, and just as they finished, Volkovsky phoned. Maxim had heard from Zaitsev in Petersburg, he said. Lebedev, the supposed informant, had turned up back in his home town. But he was in no fit state to talk. In fact he was in no fit state to do anything anymore, for his drowned body had just been fished from the Neva. He’d been brutally bashed and dumped in the river. Nobody had seen anything. Zaitsev had searched his apartment. Nothing useful had been found there either. That lead was now literally at a dead end.
Maxim had not had much more luck with Grisha’s associates. “He managed to get some possible names,” Volkovsky said, “but the men in question were nowhere to be found. They’ve gone to earth.”
“Or into the river,” said Alexey, drily.
“As you say. Anyway, that’s the situation right now, Lyosha. We should have more for you this evening. Everything all right at your end?”
“Absolutely,” said Alexey, smiling at Helen.
“And you’re taking care, Lyosha?”
“Of course.”
“I wish you’d think of going back to Uglich till we get this sorted out.”
“We’ll see, Kolya,” he said, firmly, and rang off.
“Frustrated every way we turn,” he said to Helen. “Repin – or whoever it is – seems to be one step ahead of us all the time.”
Helen shuddered, and he was instantly contrite. “Don’t worry, Lenochka. He won’t come near us. I promise.”
“How can you promise that?” she cried, “when you don’t even know for sure who it is?”
“Trust me,” he said.
“Oh, I do. But …” She saw his expression, and swallowed the rest of her words.
“Maxim and Kolya are on it. They’ll figure it out. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound convinced.
“Now – let’s think of something better. What do you want to do for the rest of the day? Aside from the obvious,” he said, grinning.
Blushing a little, she said, “I don’t know. Do you want to go back to the office and see how the staff are getting on?”
“It’s Saturday, Lenochka.” He’d told her yesterday that was one of the pet-forms of Yelena. She loved the tender sound of it on his lips. “Nobody’s working. But I might call round there this afternoon anyway, see how the clean-up’s going. Sonya’s supervising, she called this morning, as did Ilya.”
“How are they?”
“Fine. Angry, actually. But not scared. They’re real fighters, those two. Same can’t be said for some of the others.” He sighed. “But you can hardly blame people if they’re reconsidering their options right now.” He spoke reasonably but she knew by the sadness in his eyes that even if he didn’t blame the nervous ones, he had hoped for more. And maybe that was exactly the enemy’s aim. Not to frighten Alexey into giving up a thriving company, because as Kolya said, perhaps they already had the measure of him and knew he couldn’t be chased off; but more a war of attrition targeted at the weak spots, at those who could be intimidated into running away. So in the end Alexey would be faced with the ruin of his hopes, for what good was a reform plan if there was nothing left to reform? And then the sharks could move in with ease.
The insidious malice of it made her so angry that it chased the fear away. She burst out, “Alexey, I hope you know that if there’s anything I can do to make things better, anything I can help you do to stop those sodding bastards, anything to help you keep Trinity going, anything at all, I’ll do it!”
“I know,” he said, “thank you,” and he kissed her, very tenderly. They were quiet a moment, just holding each other close; then he said, in a lighter tone, “How about we go out for a bit? What do you fancy? A museum, an art gallery, a walk?”
“Actually, if it’s not too boring for you, I’d really like to go shopping,” she said. “I could do with a change of clothes.”
“Not boring at all,” he said, “but you’ve got to let it be my treat. No protests accepted,” he added, laughingly putting a finger to her lips, “so don’t even try.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, demurely, looking at him under her lashes.
He caught his breath. “If you look at me like that, you wicked girl,” he said, “we’ll never end up going out.”
“And that would never do,” said Helen, flashing him a pert look, “because I really do need to get those clothes.”
“Come on, then.” He took her hand pulled her to the door. “Forget taxis, we’ll walk. I need to calm down.”
*
Moscow is a city of parks: some formal and elegant, like the Alexandrovsky gardens; some big and rambling, like Gorky Park where holidaymakers ride troikas in winter; and some modest and sunlit-green as tiny patches of woodland with surprises to happen on – a bandstand, a cart selling cornets of nuts, a merry-go-round, a group of statues. Such a one was the little park they walked through, stopping at a place where, against a background of greenery, stood an unusual grouping of sculptures depicting two children in the center of a ring of grotesque, even monstrous, figures.
The boy and girl glowed brightly bronze; the grotesque figures had been left to weather green. Alexey read out the plaque underneath: “Childhood is threatened by adult vices,” he said. “There’s indifference; and violence; and drunkenness, and greed – and so on.”
“It’s amazing,” said Helen. And she shivered. “But kind of horrible too. Scary.” She’d never seen anything like it.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s pretty controversial. Some people say it’s enough to give kids nightmares. But I think it actually does that to adults, not children. I’d have thought it was so cool, when I was a kid. I loved everything gruesome. Not that it was up then. It’s not all that old.”
Yet somehow it looked like it had been there forever, this extraordinary bronze allegory like a dark fairytale made manifest. She said, “It would have scared me stiff. I’d have imagined those monsters coming to life. By a night of full moon or something. I’d have imagined them slowly uncreaking their metal limbs and lumbering toward the kids, who’d try in vain to escape.”
“So different, eh! I wonder if we’d have liked each other, when we were kids?”
“Probably not,” she said, pertly. “I’d have thought you were a rough noisy brat, and kept well away.”
“And I’d have thought you were little Miss Prim and Proper, and pulled your plait,” he said, and did just that. She squealed, and hit him on the hand. He growled and said, “Right, Miss Prim, I’ll get you for that,” and made a grab at her, but she twisted out of his grasp and ran away, laughing. He ran after her, catching up with her just beyond the sculptures, said, gleefully, “Now you’ll never escape,” and swept her into his arms, much to the approval of two old ladies sunning themselves on a bench nearby.
Walking hand in hand through the park a little later, he said, “You know, I think we’d have done exactly the same thing as kids, we’d have ended up playing catch and kiss,” and she gave him a sidelong glance and said, “Oh yes, I bet you were very good at catch and kiss,” and he gave her a mischievous look. “You have the wrong idea about me, I was a quiet, good little boy, not a noisy brat at all.”
She snorted. “Yeah, whatever. I hardly think that someone who immediately thinks of yanking a girl’s plait is all that much of a goody-two-shoes.”
“If that had been the only way to get you to notice me, I’d have done it in a flash,” he said, smiling.
“Well, then, I rest my case,” she said, firmly, her pulse quickening.
*
He would have taken her to an expensive shop, but she’d have none of it, and in the end they found a Zara store and, after parading in and out of the fitting rooms under Alexey’s appreciative glance, she finally selected an emerald green top, a pair of skinny cream trousers, a short fitted lavender-b
lue dress, and a pair of slingback shoes in the same soft color. The last two items were at Alexey’s insistence; she needed a new outfit for dinner tonight, he said, and Helen easily let herself be persuaded. At another place, he bought her a beautiful pure white evening shawl in a knit so fine and lacy it was like the most delicate cobwebs, and a silver silk nightie that slipped like water through her fingers and made her blush as she looked up to see the look on his face.
It was well past lunchtime by the time they finally left the shops, but they stopped for potato pancakes and tea in a little cafe before heading to the Trinity office, where the cleaners were hard at work under Sonya’s beady eye. The window had already been replaced, there was new office furniture and fittings arriving to replace the items that had been broken, and the mess was slowly disappearing. Alexey rolled up his sleeves and set to, carrying up boxes from delivery vans as they arrived, while Helen and Sonya unpacked glasses and crockery, phones and computers. Then Zakhar and Natalia turned up to lend a hand, and a little later, Ilya. Soon what could have been a grim task turned into an unexpectedly cheerful gathering, crowned by Zakhar producing a bottle of vodka and a jar of gherkins from somewhere and everyone toasting a job well done.
So Helen and Alexey were cheerful as they got in the taxi which would get them back to the apartment in time for the meeting with Serebrov and Volkovsky, and not in the least bit ready for what awaited them when the concierge intercepted them in the lobby and handed Alexey a letter that had been brought in by a messenger that afternoon, when they were out. It looked ordinary, the name and address printed on the envelope, but Alexey frowned.
“What is it?” said Helen, as they went up in the elevator.
“There’s nothing to say who this is from,” he said, turning it over.
Helen’s throat clenched. “Don’t open it. It could be a – a bomb.”
“No,” he said, “it’s much too thin for that.”
She stammered, “Or what if it’s poisoned – anthrax like that guy in the States? Or I remember reading once about this Saudi terrorist in Chechnya who was killed by the Russian Federal Security Service with a poisoned letter – there was a contact poison on it that went through his skin.”
He looked astonished. “Anthrax! Secret service poisons! Helen, what the hell are you imagining here?”
“Okay, so maybe I’m paranoid, but I still don’t think you should open it,” she said, defiantly, as they went into the apartment. “Call Nikolai and the policeman. Please, Alexey.”
He sighed. “Okay. If it makes you feel better.” He made the call, the letter lying unopened on the hall table. Helen watched it as though at any moment it might rise up against them. But it did nothing of the sort, only lay there looking ordinary, and when Maxim and Volkovsky arrived a short time later, it was still lying there, quietly. To Helen’s relief, both men took her fears very seriously, and Maxim ordered them all to stand back while, wearing thin rubber gloves and a face mask, he carefully slit the envelope open over the bathroom sink and extracted what was within with a pair of tweezers.
It wasn’t a letter, but a thin piece of card. On the front were a few computer-printed words. Maxim passed the card over to Alexey, still in the tweezers. He read what was written there, his face darkening, but said nothing. Then he turned the card over and, looking over his shoulder, Helen saw what was printed, and her scalp tightened with fear.
It was a computer-generated graphic, very basic – a long black shape with the top edges cut off, and a cross at the top. Crude it might be but she knew at once what it was. A coffin. Helen cried, “What does it say on the other side? Oh, what does it say?”
It was Nikolai Volkovsky who answered, quietly, “There’s more than one way to change your mind. That’s what it says, Helen.” He looked as though he might say more, but Serebrov, taking the card back from Alexey, spoke first. “Alexey Ivanovich, did the concierge describe the messenger who brought this?”
“No,” said Alexey. His lips were tight, his expression grim.
“Did you notice anyone loitering outside when you got back?”
The young man shook his head. Serebrov looked at Helen, who also shook her head, mutely, her eyes on Alexey’s thunderous face.
“Might you have been followed today?” the policeman persisted.
“No,” snapped Alexey.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely bloody certain. Oleg taught me what to watch out for, one day.”
Volkovsky raised an eyebrow. “Oleg did that? Then he’s smarter than he looks.”
Alexey ignored this and rounded on the policeman. “If I’d really thought we were being followed, do you think I’d have exposed Helen to it?” He glanced at her and she could tell all his heart was in his eyes. “I’m not such a reckless fool as all that, Senior Lieutenant.”
“I never said you were, Alexey Ivanovich,” said Serebrov, calmly. “I would have expected nothing less of you. But I had to know.”
“What I know,” said Alexey, his color high, his eyes flashing, “is that whoever sent this must be a complete and utter moron, because if he thinks this pathetic stunt is going to make the blindest bit of difference, then he must have his head so far up his ass that –”
“Yes, yes,” said Volkovsky, cutting in hastily, “of course, Lyosha, I quite agree, but we must still take it seriously. After what happened yesterday, you must see that.”
“I see, that someone made a stupid blunder,” Alexey said, biting off the words. “And it sure as hell wasn’t me.” He looked at Serebrov. “We have a piece of evidence now that we didn’t have before. Isn’t that so, Maxim Antonovich?”
“It is,” said the policeman, gravely. He took a plastic bag from his pocket and dropped the card and the envelope in it. “It’s possible that we may find DNA traces on the card or the envelope, or information on the type of computer and printer used. And the concierge might remember more, if pressed.”
“Mights and maybes and possiblys,” said Volkovsky, tersely, “and if beans grew in the mouth, then it would be a kitchen garden! What if you don’t get anything out of all that? What then? We can’t just wait while you find out. Lyosha, you must go back to Uglich.”
“That would be wise,” agreed Serebrov, with a meaningful glance at Helen. She said, “Alexey – please. You’ve got to listen to them.”
She could see the volcanic struggle inside him, the defiant pride and anger, warring with tenderness and concern for her. He said, his eyes never leaving her face, “Okay. We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.” He put an arm protectively around her, and she knew he’d agreed for her sake, and her sake only. It didn’t matter. He would be safe, and that’s what counted for her.
Volkovsky said, “Good. Now as for tonight, you will stay here and …”
Alexey’s eyes flashed dangerously. “We were planning to go out to dinner.”
“Out of the question,” snapped Volkovsky. He looked to Serebrov for support, but the policeman discreetly said nothing.
Alexey hissed, “I will not be dictated to, even by you, Kolya. In the name of God, we were out last night, and all day today, and nothing happened, nothing! Aren’t you forgetting something? The card came here, Kolya. To this building. So why would you imagine it’s safer here than out in the streets? You can see for yourself it’s not so!”
Volkovsky had paled, his lips set. He snapped, “I can see no such thing, and neither would you, if you had any damn sense!” They glared at each other, fists clenched, like two antagonists, and Helen suddenly couldn’t bear it anymore. She cried, “Stop it! Don’t you see that’s what they want? What they’re after? They’re trying to set you all against one another, and it’s working, because listen to you, just listen to you!” And she burst into tears.
She hadn’t meant to, but it was the best thing she could have done. In the face of her tears the tension between the two men dissolved as they sheepishly apologized to each other and to her. Serebrov slipped out discreetly durin
g this time and soon returned with the news that, though the concierge could only give a fairly sketchy description of the messenger, he’d also said he believed that the man’s van had borne the logo of a particular courier company. That could be checked quite easily. They had a good deal to go on, he said comfortingly. Besides, just as a barking dog rarely bites, a killer rarely signaled their intention so blatantly. In his opinion Miss Clement was quite right, the intention behind the card was not to issue a death threat so much as to cause instability, like the attacks on the Trinity offices. And then, he observed blandly that in restaurants, as far as he knew, a table for four might be reserved just as easily as a table for two. As he spoke, he glanced at the other two men, and Helen saw by his expression that he understood Alexey’s attitude, and even admired it; but that he also knew Volkovsky was right to be wary. She knew that because she felt exactly the same way; and so she was immensely relieved when both Alexey and his godfather smiled wryly and nodded. She knew he had found precisely the right compromise, and her estimation of the big policeman grew a little.
Chapter 24
So the evening ended not in tension or recriminations, but in a cozy little backstreet restaurant, and if it wasn’t the romantic night out Helen and Alexey had planned for, it was perfectly safe and uneventful, the sinister little card not forgotten, but not discussed by mutual consent. Helen even enjoyed herself in a way. Nikolai, she knew already, was a good conversationalist; but drawn out by Alexey’s warmth, or perhaps loosened by liquor, Serebrov showed a talent for mimicry and anecdote which she’d never have imagined could lie in such a hard, impassive man.
Later, they adjourned to the apartment, and over more glasses of liqueur, Alexey started singing, and Volkovsky and Serebrov joined in with him. For all his bulk, Serebrov had a surprisingly light tenor voice, and Volkovsky a rather subdued baritone, not as deep or rich as Alexey’s but perfectly capable of holding a tune, and as the three voices threaded together in perfect harmony, Helen found the tears springing to her eyes. She would happily have just sat and listened, but after a while Alexey insisted she sing too, and she began a little hesitantly on one of her favorite French songs, “À la claire fontaine”, a sweet sad song which they all seemed to know, at least the melody if not the words. She soon forgot to be shy in the simple pleasure of fellowship, and music, and Alexey’s tender eyes on her.
Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1) Page 21