by William Ryan
‘I’ll ask.’
‘Do that,’ Korolev said. ‘How long will it take us to get to Moldovanka and this bar?’
‘We’re driving?’
‘I think it would be a good idea to have a car – in case we have to move quickly.’
‘It might be. But I have to tell you, there’s a good chance it won’t all be there when we’ve finished.’
‘I trust your family to look after it.’
Slivka laughed at that. ‘More fool you then, Chief. I’d only trust them to make off with anything saleable. Particularly if they know it’s a Militia car – it would be a point of honour with them.’
‘How long to walk?’
‘Twenty minutes.’
Korolev looked at his watch – it was five o’clock. According to Slivka’s mother, they were to meet Kolya and his men inside the Moldovanka bar at seven. In the meantime it was essential he called Rodinov for instructions about this damned Frenchman, and tell him exactly what was going on.
Another thought occurred to him. ‘What about Antonova and Belinsky?’ Did you double-check whether they were in the room when the body was discovered?’
‘Antonova is accounted for. She went back to the village with two other women after the night shoot. Likewise Belinsky, who was still packing up camera equipment when the girl was found.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said, his head hurting even more now. He wished the investigation would slow down for a few hours, to allow him to bring some sense to it, but the meeting with Kolya was close at hand and between now and then every minute would be precious. The more he thought about the Moldovanka meeting, the more he was convinced that if things came to a tussle with armed terrorists it would be good to have a fast car close to hand. On top of which, he didn’t like the idea of doing this without his back being covered.
‘Is there someone we could trust to keep a car nearby, someone quiet? What about Firtov? Or the Greek?’
‘I could ask them.’
‘Do it, Nadezhda Andreyevna, and find me somewhere private to call Moscow. There are matters we need direction on, and from the highest level.’
It was strange the silence that came when Korolev asked the operator, a police operator no less, to give him a line to Moscow, the Lubianka, Colonel Rodinov. It lasted a few long seconds and when the operator finally spoke it sounded more like a thirsty man’s croak than speech, but it was refreshing how quickly you could sometimes be connected when the recipient had such an impressive address.
‘Rodinov,’ came the voice down the line, the colonel pronouncing his name as though he were chewing a piece of raw meat. And Korolev told him everything.
‘Les Pins, Lomatkin, Danyluk, this rat Topolski in Moscow, the girl’s father and this damned Militaman. It’s a conspiracy, Korolev – the Devil alone knows where it might end. We’ve got to intercept those guns, do you hear me? I’ll call our people in Odessa – they’ll have that place surrounded in ten minutes’ time and then we’ll have the lot of them, and we’ll see what holes the rats crawled out of, and what holes we can find to put them in when we’ve finished with them.’
‘Colonel, as I understand it, Moldovanka is a tight neighbourhood, inward looking, the kind of place where strangers are viewed with suspicion. And if I know Kolya and his cohorts, they’ll be on the lookout – if not for Chekists, then for the terrorists. If you send the wrong type of people in the wrong numbers, well – it might be counter-productive. We don’t know where the guns are yet, after all.’
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Korolev shook his head in self-admonition. What kind of idiot was he? Offering advice to a Chekist colonel on how to do his job? He ought to be locked up in a place where he couldn’t harm himself or others. How he’d managed to survive this long in a hard world was a mystery to him.
‘Now’s not the time for explanations, Korolev.’ The colonel seemed calmer now and his voice was an interesting mixture of curiosity and menace. ‘But you’ll be telling me before tomorrow is out, face to face, why the Thieves think you’re a man to be trusted. And I can’t wait to hear your explanation.’
If I survive that long, thought Korolev, I might even give you one.
‘Of course, Comrade Colonel,’ he said, deciding that if the colonel was happy enough to wait for twenty-four hours then there was no point in jumping the gun.
‘You may be right,’ Rodinov continued. ‘All the same we’ll quietly monitor any movements out of the city. It’s crucial those guns don’t get away. If you fail, we’ll try a different approach.’
Korolev didn’t want to think about that and, anyway, there was another sensitive subject he needed to raise.
‘Comrade Colonel. About Major Mushkin.’
‘Go on.’
And so Korolev did, reminding Rodinov that the major had interceded for the missing Sergeant Gradov when his gun had gone missing.
‘Mushkin’s father was a Petlyurist, of course,’ Rodinov said when Korolev had finished.
‘I wasn’t aware of that.’
‘Oh yes, Mushkin’s mother shot him herself – a famous story and an example to all Bolsheviks.’ There was a lengthy pause. Eventually the colonel came to a decision.
‘Mushkin will be informed and be part of the operation, but he won’t be heading it and he won’t be given all the information until the last moment. Leave that to me. As for what you say about the Moldovanka – I’ll talk to our people and see what can be done, quietly as I’ve said. And, if necessary, we’ll be ready to shut the city down tight as a clam. Is this girl Slivka trustworthy?’
‘I’d stake my life on her.’
‘And how much does she know?’
‘Only as much as I considered necessary. I’ve been careful with information, as you said,’ Korolev said, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
‘Keep it that way. And these men you’re asking to drive the car?’
‘Solid fellows.’
‘Good. Call if you have any news – there will be someone here to take a message, no matter what the time. Tell Slivka and these solid fellows of yours the same. Just in case. Leave a trail, Korolev, and we’ll follow it.’
In case you don’t make it back, Korolev thought to himself.
The door to the office Slivka shared with two other detectives was locked when Korolev arrived and he rapped quietly on it with his knuckles.
Slivka opened up and ushered him in, looking past him into the corridor to make sure there was no one around. ‘I got us some artillery,’ she said as she locked the door behind him and, sure enough, on her desk were two solid, snub-barrelled machine guns, about two and a half feet in length.
‘PPD 34s,’ Slivka said proudly. ‘Don’t ask me where I got them.’
Korolev put a hand on the closer of the guns and ran his fingers along the dull grey metal.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘Ah, Chief, I told you not to ask,’ Slivka said with a grin. ‘Well – the border guard use our armoury and I’ve borrowed them. We have to get them back by first thing in the morning.’
‘You borrowed sub-machine guns?’ Korolev said, not bothering to hide his amazement. ‘From the border guard?’
‘Well, I thought that if we needed guns then we might as well have good guns.’
‘But what if we lose them?’ Korolev asked, picking one up and beginning to warm to the evil weight in his hands.
‘There’s only one way we’re losing them, Chief, and if that happens – well, they can’t shoot us twice, can they?’
‘No,’ Korolev agreed, clicking out the magazine – easily done – and slipping it back into place. ‘No, you’re right there, Slivka. You’re sure no one will notice?’
‘Someone owed me a favour, now I owe him one. He turned a blind eye, and he’ll turn another tomorrow.’
Korolev found his finger on the trigger guard. The guns were small enough to go underneath an overcoat on a long strap and they could chop a man in half in less time than i
t took to say hello. If it came to shooting, they’d be glad to have them.
‘Eight hundred bullets per minute,’ Slivka whispered, as if inviting him to bed, ‘and I’ve four magazines for each of them.’
‘That’s a lot of bullets.’
‘A great deal of bullets,’ Slivka agreed, her teeth white in the low light.
‘And I even managed to get you a spare clip for your Walther, Chief. And there’s a Nagant for you, if you want it.’
Korolev shrugged his shoulders.
‘Better to be safe than sorry. What about Firtov and the Greek?’
‘It’s agreed. Firtov will drive the car and stay close if he can. I’ve worked out some meeting spots with him in case he loses us. Don’t worry, Chief, I know Moldovanka like the back of my hand and so does Firtov. He’ll keep close to us and he’ll have the Greek to follow on foot if it comes to walking.’
Korolev couldn’t help but think that Sergeant Slivka was a little too excited at the prospect of the evening ahead. But that was youth, he decided, and it was probably no bad thing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘What time is it?’ Slivka asked.
‘Time to go,’ Korolev answered, and checked his machine gun for the third time before repeating the exercise with the Nagant and then with the Walther.
‘The Greek will stay as close as he can,’ Firtov said. They’d parked, at his suggestion, a few streets away from the bar in a quiet lane behind a warehouse. They hadn’t told the two forensics men everything, but they’d told them enough and, as far as they knew, the Greek was close by, although they’d dropped him off some distance away.
‘Use your discretion, Comrade,’ Korolev said. ‘Stay back and report to the colonel in Moscow if things get rough – there’s a bigger picture here than our skins.’
Slivka nodded her agreement, a firm movement, and Korolev was reassured by her determination.
‘All right, Slivka, let’s see if we can make it to this bar of yours without clanking too much.’
At least the evening air was fresh compared to the fuggy atmosphere inside Firtov’s motor and Korolev breathed in a lungful with something approaching pleasure as he adjusted his clothing to cover his weaponry.
Moldovanka wasn’t a plush area, by any means, and even if its buildings were low, the streets themselves were wide and straight. The district still had more than an echo of the grandeur of the centre of Odessa, even if much of the paintwork was peeling and some of the plasterwork was well nibbled. When they turned out of the alleyway into a larger street they found it busy with workers returning home, and despite the temperature and the limited light from the street lamps there was a buzz of conversation as friends greeted each other and discussed the day’s happenings. Korolev kept his eyes moving as they walked, scanning the crowd for danger, so it was all the more of a surprise that he was almost on top of Mishka before he spotted the rotten-toothed rascal.
‘Nadezhda, darling,’ Mishka said with an insolent smile, ‘you must keep better company than this. Come on, this summer – you and I – we’ll go to Yalta and drink real champagne in the finest hotels. Caviar, you name it, we’ll have it. Hanging around with persons like this will give you a bad reputation.’
‘But Mishka, you’re a sewer rat,’ Slivka said to the Thief in mock bewilderment.
The Thief laughed, not in the least offended. ‘At least a rat like me would look after you, not take you out on dates to dumps like this.’
What was this about a date? Slivka and he were Militia detectives on an important assignment.
‘Hey, Mishka. Enough from the monkey. Take us to the organ grinder,’ Korolev growled, and his irritation turned to cold fury when the Thief’s response was to laugh again. At him. In front of witnesses, no less.
‘Did you hear that, Fox? These Moscow Terriers have dirty mouths on them.’
Mishka addressed his remark to a tall wiry individual with thick red hair who was dressed, like Mishka and, indeed, Korolev and Slivka, in a long overcoat that probably hid a similar amount of armaments. As he looked around him, Korolev saw that Fox was one of several men who’d appeared in their locality, all with an equally antisocial look about them. It seemed as if half the toughs in Odessa were out for an evening’s promenade.
‘Greetings, Fox,’ Slivka said with a small nod in the red-headed man’s direction.
‘Evening, Nadezhda. Kolya said to bring you and the flatfoot into Petya’s when you showed.’ Fox pointed in the direction of a bar on the corner of a wide crossroads. More men were posted around it; they looked hard and vigilant, men made in Fox’s image.
‘What have you got under your coat, Korolev?’ Mishka asked with that irritating smile of his.
‘Something that’s as good as a shovel if you want to dig yourself a grave, little Mishka.’
Mishka seemed ready to take up the challenge, a vein in his forehead visibly beating as his clear blue eyes, completely devoid of anything resembling emotion, contemplated Korolev, narrowing to slits as he did so.
‘Mishka, take a couple of the boys around the block – make sure we’re clear there.’
Kolya’s voice was like gravel pouring into an empty hole, remorseless and undeniable. The young Thief blinked, looked at Korolev as though he’d forgotten who he was, then nodded his agreement.
‘Fox? Benya? Let’s go.’
‘You brought something for us, Alexei Dmitriyevich?’ Kolya said, nodding at the shape in Korolev’s coat in turn.
‘Something useful.’
‘I hear you brought some friends along as well.’
‘Friends?’ Korolev asked, wondering if Rodinov had sent some dim-witted Chekists blundering into Moldovanka to keep an eye on things.
‘You’ve a car and a driver parked three streets away, in behind the box factory. Not a friend of yours? It’s a Militia vehicle and known as such.’
‘That’s Firtov,’ Slivka said, moving a little closer to intercede. ‘Firtov’s all right, Kolya. We need a car for later, but he’ll stay back. He’s trustworthy.’
‘I know who’s in the car, Nadezhda,’ Kolya said slowly, not looking at her, keeping instead his steady gaze on Korolev. An interesting gaze it was as well – inquisitive and yet menacing. As if Korolev were a curious question that needed to be examined from more than one perspective and then dealt with.
‘Well, Kolya?’ Korolev asked.
‘You should have told us about Firtov. If he hadn’t been recognized it might have gone badly for him. And now we wonder if we can trust you.’
‘We needed the car,’ Korolev replied firmly, ‘and I’d no way of telling you about him.’
Kolya nodded, then gestured to the hard-looking men who stood out by virtue of their stillness and intensity amongst the neighbourhood’s evening crowd.
‘Let’s go inside. Your car will be there when you need it. And Firtov too.’
They followed the Thief into the half-empty bar, and at a nod from Kolya a bottle of vodka and some dark rye bread arrived at the small table he led them to, followed swiftly by glasses. Korolev, after a moment’s consideration, unbuckled the strap of his machine gun and placed it on the floor, Slivka following suit with her own weapon.
The presence of two machine guns in the bar aroused little comment from the other drinkers, which wasn’t surprising given that everything from a bayonet to a cut-down shotgun was sitting on the tables around them.
Korolev was pretty certain that the half-dozen men in the room, including the bartender, had almost, but not quite, smiled with approval.
‘Nice artillery,’ Kolya said, placing a Luger on the table, followed by a saw-toothed knife.
‘We came prepared. So what’s the situation? It looks like there’s enough weaponry in here for a small war.’
‘A small war is what we might have on our hands.’ Kolya squinted at his watch, then smiled. ‘But in an hour or two we’ll bring the war to an end, I think.’
‘You know where the guns are?’
‘Yes. They have a place in the catacombs they think no one knows about, but they’re wrong.’
‘Catacombs?’ Korolev asked.
‘This city is built from limestone. Where do you think it all came from? Underneath the city is where – they’ve been cutting it out for a hundred years now, and once you start making holes like that beside the sea, pretty soon gentlemen like me link them up and make tunnels, and then you have a nice way of getting something from the port up to the town if you want to do it quietly. You can travel from one end of Odessa to the other without seeing daylight, they say. And even if they’re prone to exaggeration around here, it’s possible they’re talking the truth on this.’
‘So how do you know about this place of theirs?’
‘We have one of their men out the back, and he has a wife and children. He’ll show us where his friends have their stash.’
‘What’s in this stash of his?’ Korolev asked.
‘At least forty crates, he says – I don’t know more than that and there’s still more coming in, but we should catch most of it.’ Kolya looked at him keenly for a very brief moment, then resumed his impassive expression.
‘It’s understood that any weapons are for us, Kolya,’ Korolev said.
‘You can have anything that shoots or blows, that’s agreed. For guns and suchlike, we’ll only take away what we bring. We want a quiet life – and these guns are noisy. They’re of no use to businessmen like us. Shall we drink on it?’
They emptied the small vodka glasses, drank in unison, and Korolev felt the alcohol warming his throat and stomach.
‘So how many guards?’
‘A few.’
‘Well?’
‘More than one, fewer than twenty. All we know is that they want to take the guns out of the city tonight and if there are forty crates – well, they’ll need some bodies to shift them.’
Once again Korolev had the feeling there was something he wasn’t being told.
‘Come, Kolya, all I have to do is call Marchuk or Mushkin and this city can be shut down so that not even a bicycle can move three feet.’