Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1)

by Sophie Masson

  Could this be how Makarov had met his murderer? As a fellow client of Kirov’s? It was possible.

  Anna had said Lev Kirov had begun to suspect someone after Galkin’s death. But he’d suspected the wrong person. He’d suspected Makarov ... and that was why he’d spoken to Anna about him. Oh if only he’d come to us, Maxim thought, despairingly. If only he’d said something. But there was no way he would. Not with his history. Certainly not to people like me …

  Now he was speaking, from beyond the grave. But oh, Lev Grigorevich, Maxim thought, why couldn’t you have been more specific? How can I possibly get to your murderer if you won’t give me more than this?

  *

  Now, as he looked at Anna in the soft light of the little restaurant, he thought how lovely she was. Her freshly washed hair shone with subtle honey lights that, to Maxim’s eyes at least, were far more attractive than the bright blonde she’d once affected. She wore smoky eye shadow that accentuated her dark-lashed brown eyes; her lips were touched with coral pink, and she wore an evocative floral perfume. Her soft short-sleeved dress was of the same color as her lipstick, and she wore it with a lacy jacket and high-heeled black sandals. She looked fresh and lovely, and he felt as clumsy as a dressed-up bear beside her. He’d dragged out his best suit from its mothballs at the back of the closet, and teamed it with a new brand-new shirt and a tie; he hated wearing ties, they made him feel like his neck was too big. He’d shaved carefully, trimmed his moustache, and wetted down his unruly dark hair. It felt odd to be walking out of his apartment dressed to go out for dinner – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, for since Marina there had only been a few one-night stands with women picked up in bars. But somehow, despite the discomfort of the suit and tie, it didn’t seem odd at all to be sitting across the table from Anna, talking not like a policeman and his informant, but a man and woman enjoying each other’s company over some particularly succulent lamb shashlik and full-bodied Georgian wine.

  They kept away from business talk, concentrating instead on personal things; and though they both avoided the dangerous topic of ex-spouses, she spoke about her family, and he of his. He was not close to them and, since his mother’s death, never bothered to see his siblings, who shunned him anyway because he was a cop, as did his increasingly cantankerous old father, whose only topic of conversation these days was how great things had been in Soviet times, ignoring the fact he’d moaned about it at the time. And then the conversation moved to Anna’s first meeting with Lev Kirov.

  They’d met in a park, she said, not long after she’d first arrived in Moscow. He’d rescued her from a would-be bag snatcher and they’d become good friends. He’d seen so much and suffered so much and yet he was the least bitter person she had ever met in her whole life; there were tears in her eyes as she spoke. Maxim took her hand without speaking and she didn’t snatch it away but looked at him and went on, “He spoke very occasionally of his time in the prison camp and told me that it was there that his gift was honed and perfected and that he really began to understand things about the human soul. I remember him saying once that was what Communism had intended to do – to engineer human souls, and create a new man – but that it had ultimately failed, as all such things must fail, because there is no humble acknowledgment of mystery, only diseased pride pushed to madness. And Lev lived by the truth of mystery, if you understand me.”

  Maxim nodded. “I do understand, but it makes my work all the harder,” he said. “There was a story I read in his manuscript today …” And he told her what it was. “Did he ever talk to you about those people?” he asked her, at the end.

  “No,” said Anna. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t, you see, because he kept other people’s secrets as well as his own. He allowed people their mystery, he did not try to unpeel it.” Her expression changed. “But do you think it was one of them who …”

  “I don’t know,” said Maxim. “I don’t even know if one of them was Makarov. It is just a feeling. I have no evidence.”

  “Feelings are evidence,” said Anna, simply, “that’s what Lev would have said.” And her eyes met his, and he knew she wasn’t just referring to the case.

  By the time they left, it was nearly eleven. Maxim accompanied Anna on the Metro back to her apartment. She invited him in for a brandy and they sat around for a while longer, drinking and talking against a soft background of old pop songs on her tape recorder. Then he got up to leave, saying he had to catch the last Metro home. He’d half-hoped she might protest, tell him to stay; but she didn’t, though she kissed him goodnight in a way that promised him much, all in its own good time, if he was prepared to be patient. Going back out from her warm apartment into the cool night, he smiled as he imagined what that would mean, and his imaginings filled the rest of the journey home.

  Chapter 34

  Katya came to collect her and Oleg’s things the next day. She spoke to Alexey, and not at all to Helen. Or to Slava, though from where she stood talking to Alexey, the guard was only a short distance away, washing and polishing the Mercedes till it gleamed. Not that it hadn’t before. Helen, watching from the living-room window, saw that Slava, too, was pointedly ignoring the girl. Katya had said there was nothing between her and Slava. Maybe there hadn’t been. But maybe, just maybe, what she’d hinted at, of his strange behavior, of implying that he had the same kind of “curse” on him as the dogs – was that a clue to something else? Something she was ashamed to voice to anyone? Slava wasn’t the seducer type; but given any encouragement at all, he’d take what he thought was being offered, even if it wasn’t really. Oh, I’m being unfair, Helen thought, completely unfair. And if he had done anything like that, anyway, Katya would have told Oleg, and … and what if Oleg had confronted Slava, and he’d set the dogs on him? But the dogs wouldn’t have obeyed Slava, he wasn’t their master, she told herself, and besides Oleg was conscious yesterday, he’d most certainly have told us if Slava had done anything like that. But what if he was frightened of Slava, if the other guard had some kind of hold over him, so he couldn’t tell the truth? No, I really must stop this, she thought, I am imagining things just because I don’t like Slava, because it makes me uncomfortable when he’s around.

  The taxi drew away. Alexey came back inside and said to Helen, “Well, that’s it. I’m glad we parted on better terms this time. It’s a weight off my mind. I really didn’t feel I’d handled it at all well the other day.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Helen. “You don’t have to take everything on yourself, you know. They’re adults and they’re responsible for their own lives and their own reactions.” As she said it, an unexpected insight came to her, about her own experience at Changeling. Maybe she’d been blind to the realities there and had misunderstood the situation because she was not long out of school and she’d seen the company as some kind of protective surrogate parent, not as the pragmatic, even ruthless, business it actually was. A few weeks ago, it would have been a disconcerting thought that would have sapped her confidence. Today, it seemed illuminating, a useful step on the way to understanding herself and the world.

  “Thanks for that, Lenochka,” he said, grinning, and she realized what she’d said might have sounded a bit patronizing, though she most certainly hadn’t meant it that way.

  She said, hastily, “What did Katya say, about Oleg?”

  “He’s okay. They had the results of his blood tests, there’s nothing wrong with him, he definitely doesn’t have rabies. Just as well they could find out that way.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, turns out the pathology people at the hospital mislaid the dog corpses Slava delivered, because some idiot there put them in the pile for incineration, so they never were able to test them. The doctor was pretty cranky about it, but things aren’t always exactly efficient in these smaller hospitals. Anyway, at least Oleg’s okay. And Katya’s calmed down too … Now, listen, Lenochka, I’ve got to go and run a few boring errands, the bank and all that
sort of thing to pay up Oleg and Katya, Slava’s going to drive me, do you want to come?”

  “No, I might just stay and relax, and maybe make us something for lunch.” She didn’t feel like being in the same car with Slava, but she didn’t want to tell Alexey that.

  *

  On such passing whims, such apparently unimportant decisions, can everything change. Later that day, she was to think, if I’d gone with Alexey, I wouldn’t have seen it. And who knows what would have happened, then?

  She was gathering together ingredients for a quiche in the pantry, twenty minutes or so after Alexey and Slava had left, when she noticed it. A slip of shiny paper, fallen under the shelf where the cheese bell sat. She picked it up, turned it over.

  It was a photo, trimmed up, showing a man, dressed in camouflage gear and sporting sunglasses, planted in front of the body of a huge elk. Just behind him, another man, with a steady, impassive gaze. It was Slava. A souvenir of hunting, she thought. It was of a size to keep in a wallet and must have dropped out when he was getting the cheese for his eternal pasta last night. Well, she’d give it back to him when he …

  She looked again, puzzled. Something about the other man’s face struck her as familiar, though he was a total stranger. She couldn’t see his eyes, but there was something about the shape of the face … the jut of the jaw. And then, in an electric flash, it came to her, and she gasped.

  “Miss?”

  She whirled around. Slava was standing in the kitchen. Calm, girl, calm. Don’t let him know what you’ve found. If he’s here, Alexey must be back, too. So play it cool. Closing one hand over the photo, she backed away from the pantry and gabbled, “Oh hi, you’re back, I’m just making a quiche for lunch, do you like quiche?”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, just stared at her. His eyes were completely devoid of expression. He said, “He not back.”

  “What?”

  His voice was flat, without inflection. “Alexey Ivanovich. I get him later.”

  “Oh. I see.” Her palms felt sticky, her skin prickling with nerves. More than anything, she wanted to get out of the kitchen. Away from him. But she didn’t want to run past him. Didn’t want to alert him that anything was wrong. She gave him a nervous smile.

  It was a mistake. In two strides he was on her, grabbing her wrist, dragging her toward him. There was no mistaking the expression on his face now, and in a start of horror, Helen understood why he’d told her Alexey was still in town. He’d been signaling to her that “the coast was clear”, and her smile had proved to him that she shared his ugly thought. She threw herself back and yelled, “No! No!”

  But in her agitation the hand hiding the photo unclenched and the picture dropped to the floor. Slava saw it at once. Shock flooded into his face, and loosened his grip. Helen grabbed her chance, and ran.

  Out the back door. Not into the garden where she’d be trapped but up the side of the house. She could hear him behind her. Any moment he’d catch her. She couldn’t think. Could only feel. Ran like she’d never run before. The front. The Mercedes. Parked in the driveway. The door was open. The key in the ignition. She made a dive for it, but Slava was too quick. He shoved her roughly aside, sending her sprawling onto the gravel. Before she could recover, he’d jumped into the car, slammed the door, and roared off in a shower of dust, tires squealing as he went.

  She stumbled into the house, to the hall phone – her cell phone was upstairs – and feverishly dialed Alexey’s number. When he answered, she gabbled, “Alexey, something terrible … come back, come back quickly – Slava – he’s one of Repin’s men –”

  “What?”

  “I found a photo – he’s taken the car – he’s gone – he ...” But she couldn’t finish, she was trembling with delayed shock now, her throat felt thick, her ears buzzing, her gravel-rashed knees and elbows stung. The phone dropped from her nerveless hand as she slumped to the floor, hugging herself, knees drawn up to her chest, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. After a moment she began to feel better, her mind clearer, working properly again. Getting to her feet, she went back to the kitchen to retrieve the photo. But it was gone.

  When Alexey jumped out of a taxi a few short minutes later, she was at the staff quarters, trying to pick the lock of Slava’s room with a bent pin. He hurried toward her. He was very pale. He took her in his arms. “Lenochka – my darling Lenochka – are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine,” she said, impatiently, but then without warning she burst into tears, and he held her tight and it was just what she needed, the loving warmth of him, the knowledge he was safe, nothing really bad had happened, she had unmasked a traitor in their midst before it was too late. Presently she was able to tell him her story, without faltering, and as he listened the expression in his eyes darkened. “If I catch him I’ll kill him, I swear to God,” he growled. “Not for me, but for you. That bastard. And I wasn’t there when you needed me …”

  “You weren’t to know, love,” she said, tenderly. “And I’m okay, I really am,” and it was true, she was steady now, steady with the knowledge that fate had been kind to them and disaster had been averted. “It was lucky, really, what happened.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Yes, because, whatever he was up to, whatever he was planning, he can’t do it now.” Her voice quivered. “Can’t you see? He can’t do it, Alexey.”

  “No,” he said, soberly, “he can’t,” and his eyes met hers, and she knew he understood what she was saying. With Yuri gone, and Oleg and Katya – and was it possible Slava had engineered all that – then Alexey had been exposed, with Slava as his only guard. How long would it have been before something happened? Not straight away, no. Slava would have waited. Waited till they were lulled into a sense of false security before …

  She shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about. And the important thing was – it hadn’t happened. Slava had made a mistake. It was pure chance she’d found the photo. He hadn’t known he’d mislaid it. But the shock in his face when he saw it had given him away. He knew he was blown. That’s why he’d run.

  “We need to get into his room,” she said. “In case there’s anything else. And then we need to call Nikolai, and Maxim.”

  “There’s a master key somewhere. I’ll go get it. I’ve called the local police already. Told them Slava had stolen my car. Gave them the number. They might be able to stop him.”

  *

  But Slava was long gone and the police didn’t catch up with him. Helen and Alexey got into his room and found it obsessively tidy, everything arranged in military precision. A search of every inch of it produced very little. No more photos. No clues. And apart from a luridly jacketed paperback book on the bedside table, very little of any personal nature either. They flipped through the paperback anyway, but not surprisingly there was nothing hidden in it. But in the small bathroom Alexey found a small brown pill-bottle in the wastebasket, and though there were no pills left in it, there was still a fine residue of powder coating the bottom. “It’s a long shot, but we might as well get it analyzed,” he said, “just in case it’s connected to what happened with the dogs …”

  He rang Nikolai then, and even from across the room Helen could hear the Trinity manager’s startled yelp.

  “It can’t be true, it can’t! We checked out Slava – you remember, Alexey, Pasha did it?”

  “I do. I saw the file. It was pretty thorough.”

  “There was absolutely nothing to connect him with Repin. Is Helen absolutely sure it was Repin in that picture?”

  “I’m sure,” said Helen, taking the phone. “I’ve seen his picture on the Internet. There’s no doubt, Nikolai.”

  “Oh well, at least thank God for fools! I can’t imagine Repin will be best pleased with him, blowing his cover like that. Hell, to think … If you hadn’t found that photo, Helen …”

  “I know,” she said, swallowing. “I keep thinking of that.”

  “But you did find it,” said V
olkovsky, his voice firming, “and we are all greatly in your debt because now a clear and present danger has been neutralized.”

  Helen’s voice trembled a little as she said, “Do you think there’s any chance that he – he’ll come back?”

  “No. I think he’ll stay well away,” said Volkovsky, reassuringly. “And I have a hunch that Slava wasn’t there to hurt Lyosha, anyway.”

  Alexey took the phone back. “But what about the dogs?”

  “That might be a simple coincidence. After all, the dogs tried to attack Helen too.”

  “Yes, but …”

  “We must not make the mistake of assuming that everything is linked, Lyosha. Or we will get confused and go up the wrong track. I think myself that Slava was there as Repin’s eyes and ears. There’s no doubt in my mind now that Repin has his eye on Trinity. I went to see that ex-mistress of his this morning. And she told me that just over three years ago, he’d had a secret meeting with Galkin.”

  “But why would Galkin meet with Repin?”

  “She didn’t know. But it’s possible that Galkin was exploring options, shall we say, on his own. Or it may be unconnected. Galkin was a hunting enthusiast, like Repin. Anyway, it’s a connection we didn’t have before. And now we know Slava was Repin’s mole.”

  “Have you spoken to Maxim about it?”

  “No, but I will. Have you spoken to him?”

  “Not yet. Will you?”

  “Sure,” said Volkovsky. “He might as well have all the information in one go.” His tone changed. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way – I don’t think you’re in any physical danger from Slava, but your security has been compromised. I’ve got a few things to finish up here, but I’ll catch the plane back tomorrow morning, and arrange for the house to be thoroughly searched, in case Slava installed surveillance equipment of some sort. Until we can get the house swept clean for bugs, you should stay somewhere else. A hotel, perhaps.”