Red Square (43 page)

   
Across the square from the toy shop, the Lubyanka looked equally somnolent. However, at the back of the building, a line of vans rolled out of the bay.

Arkady drove into his courtyard, squeezed the Zhiguli between the vodka cases around the church and opened the gate to a woodcart alley that ended on a bluff overlooking the canal. Carrying Rita's bag, he entered the back door of an apartment house and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, where he had a view of the courtyard and the blue motorcycle lurking behind a delivery van a block away.

   
Arkady sympathized with Minin. On any other day, he would have cars and radio communications. What did he remember about his assistant? Impatience, a tendency to rush ahead. Minin got off the motorcycle, his face folded with doubt. He was followed by the driver, who pulled off his helmet to release long black hair. It was Kim, looking for Arkady now.

   
He went out of the back door and across an overgrown area that dwindled down to a dirt path threading between the back walls of workshops and brought him to the street on the far side of the motorcycle. Looking towards his house, he saw Minin push the buttons of the code box.

   
The Suzuki leaned on its kickstand, front wheel at an angle. The motorcycle had a blue plastic body that swept from windscreen to the exhaust like the cowling of a jet engine. Access to the exhaust pipes was tight; on the other hand, anything added wouldn't easily be seen. Arkady lay flat on the ground and felt the long scab on his back crack under his weight. The Suzuki had a four-into-two-into-one exhaust system running from header pipes to the silencer. When he shook the water bottle and sprayed them, the pipes spat back. Although he emptied the bottle on the pipes first, he still burned his fingers when he reached in, ran the wires around them and attached the deodorant can. Nevertheless, he twisted the wires tight. Jaak would have been proud.

   
By the time Arkady got to his feet, Minin and Kim had disappeared. He wiped his hands on his jacket, shouldered the canvas bag and followed their trail to the house. He saw the curtains in his window shift.

   
Minin had composed a grin. He let Arkady enter the flat and close the door before popping out of the bedroom hall with the huge Stechkin he had waved outside Rudy's flat. A Stechkin was a machine pistol like a Skorpion but not as ugly. In fact, it was the best-looking part of Minin.

   
The cupboard opened at Arkady's back and Kim stepped out. He had a face as flat as a jack of spades, and he held a Malysh, the same weapon he had carried to protect Rudy so long ago. He must have had it tucked inside his leather jacket. Arkady was impressed. It was like facing artillery.

   
Minin said, 'Give me the bag.'

   
'No.'

   
Minin said, 'Give it to me or I'll kill you.'

   
Arkady held the bag to his chest. 'The painting inside is worth millions of dollars. You don't want to put holes in it. It's fragile. If I even fall on it, it will be junk. How would you like to explain that to the city prosecutor? Also, I don't want to undermine your authority, Minin, but I can't think of anything more stupid than putting a target between two automatic weapons.' He asked Kim, 'Can you?'

   
Kim moved to the side.

   
'This is your final warning,' Minin said.

   
Arkady kept the bag cradled to his chest while he opened die refrigerator. Something like moss had grown out of the top of the kefir bottle. He shut the door on the smell.

   
'I'm curious, Minin. How do you think getting this painting will safeguard the Party's sacred mission?'

   
'The painting belongs to the Party.'

   
'So much does. Are you going to pull the trigger or not?'

   
Minin let the gun hang. 'It doesn't matter whether I shoot you. As of today, you're dead.'

   
'You're working with Kim. Aren't you a little embarrassed to be riding around with a homicidal maniac?' When Minin didn't answer, Arkady turned to Kim. 'Aren't you embarrassed to be riding with an investigator? One of you ought to be.' Kim smiled, but Minin was actually sweating with hate. 'I've always wondered, Minin, what do you have against me?'

   
'Your cynicism.'

   
'Cynicism?'

   
'About the Party.'

   
'Well.' Minin had a point.

   
'I thought, "Senior Investigator Renko, son of General Renko". I thought you'd be a hero. I thought it would be a great experience to work shoulder to shoulder with you, until my eyes came clear and I saw the sort of corrupt individual you were.'

   
'How?'

   
'We were supposed to be investigating criminals, but you always turned the investigation against the Party.'

   
'It just worked out that way.'

   
'I watched to see if you took money from the mafias.'

   
'I didn't.'

   
'No. You were more corrupt because you didn't care about money.'

   
Arkady said, 'I've changed. Now I want money. Call Albov.'

   
'Who's Albov?'

   
'Or I will walk out with the painting and you will have lost five million dollars.'

   
When Minin said nothing, Arkady shrugged and took a step to the door.

   
'Wait,' Minin said. He went to the wall phone in the hall, dialled and walked the receiver into the living room. Arkady examined his bookshelf and pulled out
Macbeth
. The gun that should have been behind Shakespeare was gone.

   
Minin had a moment of satisfaction. 'I was up here while you were in Germany. I searched everything.' Someone came on the line because Minin spoke rapidly into the receiver and explained Arkady's lack of cooperation. He looked up. 'Show me the painting.'

   
Arkady lifted the painting out of the bag and pulled it halfway out of the plastic wrap.

   
'There's been a mistake,' Minin said into the phone. 'There's no painting, just a canvas. It's red.' His forehead squatted. 'That's it? You're sure?' He held the phone out to Arkady, who took it only after slipping the painting back into the bag.

   
'Arkady?'

   
'Max,' Arkady said, as if they hadn't seen each other for years.

   
'I'm glad to hear your voice, and I'm certainly pleased you brought the painting with you. We spoke to Rita, who was upset and sure you were going to turn her over to the German police. You could have stayed in Berlin. What brought you back?'

   
'I would have stayed in jail. The police were searching for me, not Rita.'

   
'True. Borya did set you up. I'm sure the Chechens would also love to know where you are. It was very shrewd of you to return.'

   
Arkady asked, 'Where are you?'

   
Max said, 'The situation being what it is, I don't want to broadcast that. Frankly, I'm worried about Rodionov and his friends. I hope they have the resolve to finish this business quickly, because the longer they wait, the bloodier it will be. Your father would have wiped out the defenders at the White House already, wouldn't he?'

   
'Yes.'

   
'I understand that you want to make some sort of arrangement about the painting. What?'

   
'A British Airways ticket to London and fifty thousand dollars.'

   
'A lot of people are trying to leave town. I can give you any amount of rubles, but foreign currency is tight right now.'

   
'I'm giving the phone back to Minin.'

   
As soon as he had handed over the phone, Arkady took a serrated knife from a drawer by the sink. While each act was reported by Minin, he opened the window and pulled the wrapped painting out of the bag. The wrap's plastic bubbles started popping as Arkady sawed.

   
'Wait!' Minin said and offered the phone to Arkady again.

   
Max was laughing. 'I get the point. You win.'

   
'Where are you?'

   
'Minin will bring you.'

   
'He can lead me. I have a car.'

   
'I'd better talk to him,' Max said.

   
Minin listened grimly before he returned the receiver to the hall. 'You don't have to lead me,' Arkady said. 'Just tell me where he is.'

   
'There's going to be a curfew tonight. In case there are any road blocks, it's better if we all go.'

   
Kim broke into a grin bursting with personality. 'Hurry up. I want to come back and find the girl on the scooter.' It was the first time he had opened his mouth and it wasn't what Arkady wanted to hear.

   
'We saw Polina,' Minin said. His tone was judicial, though his tongue left a brief dab on his lips. 'You look like shit. You look like you've been rolling on the ground. They didn't treat you too well in Germany.'

   
'Travel is wearing,' Arkady said. Switching the bag from hand to hand, he slipped out of the soiled jacket. The back of his shirt was black with old blood and red with new. Kim sucked in an audible breath. From the cupboard, Arkady selected a wrinkled but cleaner jacket, the one he had worn to the cemetery. From its pocket, he pulled his heirloom, his father's revolver, the Nagant, an ancient firearm with a hammer and wooden grip as curved as apostrophes. The four rounds, thick as silver nuggets, were in the pocket too. One arm through the handle of the bag, he swung open the cylinder and loaded it. He said, 'How many times have I told you, Minin? Don't just check the cupboards, check the clothes too.'

Minin and Arkady waited in the courtyard while Kim went for the motorcycle. The sky was dark. Lamplight and rain intensified die blue of the church and lent the windows of the house a pastel oiliness.

   
Arkady wondered whether the television hypnotist was on tonight. He said, 'I have a neighbour who collects my mail and puts food in my refrigerator. There was no mail and no food.'

   
Minin said, 'Maybe she knew you were away.'

   
Arkady let the inadvertent admission gape for a while. The church gutters were stopped up, as usual, and the overflow fell in bright threads. He said, 'She lived right below me. She always heard me walking around, and she probably heard you.'

   
Minin's face played in and out of die shadow of his hat.

   
'Why don't you just say you're sorry?' Arkady asked. 'She had a bad heart. Maybe you didn't mean to scare her.'

   
'She interfered.'

   
'Pardon?'

   
'She overstepped. She knew she was sick, I didn't. I take no responsibility for the consequences of her actions.'

   
'You mean you're sorry?'

   
Minin put the barrel of the Stechkin where the bag covered Arkady's heart. 'I mean shut up.'

   
'Do you feel left out?' Arkady asked more softly. 'That I'm depriving you? That they're having a revolution without us, you or me?'

   
Minin tried to be silent, but he shifted with the feet of an ardent spear-carrier. 'I'll be there when the action starts.'

   
Kim arrived on his motorcycle and followed them through the low arch of the alley. At the car, Minin jumped in on the passenger side. 'I'm not going to let you slip away again. And I'm not going to ride with that lunatic any more.'

   
Arkady considered compromises. If he refused to go, he wouldn't find Albov. Also he had pressed Minin about as far as he could. 'Put the gun in your left hand,' he said.

   
When Minin did as he was told, the selector catch of the Stechkin was above his top knuckle. Arkady reached across and turned the catch down from automatic to safe. He said, 'Keep your left hand where I can see it.'

   
The Zhiguli had a manual gear lever. Arkady rested the canvas bag by his left foot and laid the Nagant on his lap.

Kim led the way up Tverskaya in the central, official lane. Rain had chased most shoppers off the pavement. At Pushkin Square, a crowd carried banners in the direction of the parliament building. Many were kids, of course, but an unusual number were Arkady's age or older, men and women who had been children during the Khrushchev era, been allowed the heady oxygen of that short-lived reform, but had said nothing when Soviet tanks invaded Prague, and had lived in shame ever since. That was the essence of collaboration. Silence. They wore woollen caps over thinning hair, but miraculously they had discovered their voices.