The Death of Achilles (34 page)

Achimas stood up and began backing cautiously toward the door, ready to fire at any second.

“Sit down.” The man in the corner pointed imperiously to the armchair. “What I need is not some beginner, but the very finest master of your trade, because this is a very tricky job indeed. As you will see for yourself. But first allow me to apprise you of certain circumstances that will allay your suspicions.”

Achimas could tell that Monsieur NN was not used to providing explanations and was restraining the urge to fly into a fury.

“This is neither a political assassination nor a conspiracy. On the contrary, the conspirator and offender against the state is Sobolev, who dreams of rivaling the glory of Napoleon. Our hero is planning a military coup, no more and no less. The conspiracy includes officers from his army corps and also the general’s former comrades in arms, many of whom serve in the Guards. But the most dangerous thing of all is that Sobolev’s popularity extends beyond the army to every class of society, while we at court and in the government are regarded by some with resentment and by others with open hatred. The prestige of the ruling house has fallen very low following the shameful hounding and murder of the previous emperor. They ran down the Lord’s anointed as if they were running down a hare with dogs.”

The speaker’s voice was suddenly suffused with a menacing power, and the door behind Achimas immediately gave a creak. The individual for whom the court and the government were included in the concept of ‘we’ impatiently waved a white-gloved hand and the door closed again. The mysterious gentleman continued, speaking more calmly now, without anger.

“We are aware of the conspirators’ plans. At the present moment Sobolev is conducting maneuvers that are in actual fact a rehearsal for the coup. He will then set out for Moscow, accompanied by his retinue, in order to meet with certain Guards officers far away from St. Petersburg, assure himself of their support, and work out his final disposition of forces. The blow will be struck at the beginning of July, during a parade at Tsarskoe Selo. Sobolev intends to take the members of the royal family into ‘temporary custody’ — for their own good and in the name of the salvation of the fatherland.” His intonation became intensely sarcastic. “The fatherland itself will be declared in such grave danger that a military dictatorship will have to be established. There are serious grounds to suppose that this insane project will be supported by a significant portion of the army, the gentry, the merchantry, and even the peasantry. The White General is ideally suited to the role of savior of the fatherland!”

Monsieur NN got to his feet and strode angrily along the wall, cracking his knuckles. Nonetheless, he remained in the shadows as before and did not show his face. Achimas could only make out an aristocratic nose and lush sideburns.

“So you should be aware, Mr. Welde, that in this case you will not be committing any crime, because Sobolev has been condemned to death by a court that included the most senior dignitaries in the empire. Of the twenty judges appointed by His Imperial Majesty, seventeen voted for the death penalty. And the emperor has already confirmed the verdict. It was a secret court, but no less legitimate for that. The gentleman whom you took for an intermediary was one of the judges and was acting in the interests of security and peace in Europe. As you are probably aware, Sobolev is the leader of the militant Slavist party, and his accession to power would inevitably lead to war with Germany and Austria- Hungary.”

The man of state stopped speaking and looked at his imperturbable listener.

“Therefore you have no reason to fear for your life. You are not dealing with criminals, but with the supreme authority of a great empire. You are being asked to play the role of an executioner, not a murderer. Do you find my explanation satisfactory?”

“Let us assume so,” said Achimas, placing his hands on the table. There was apparently no prospect of any shooting. “But what exactly is it that makes the job so difficult? Why can the general not simply be poisoned, or even shot, if it comes to that?”

“Aha — you would appear to have accepted our proposal.” Monsieur NN nodded in satisfaction and lowered himself onto the chair. “Now I shall explain why we need such an authoritative specialist. Let us start with the fact that it is very difficult to get close to Sobolev. He is surrounded day and night by adjutants and orderlies who are fanatically devoted to him. And he cannot simply be killed — that would set the whole of Russia up in arms. He must die naturally, without any ambiguities or suspicions. But even that is not enough. We ourselves could eliminate the criminal by using poison, but the conspiracy has already gone too far. Even the death of their leader cannot stop the conspirators. They will carry their cause through to the end, believing that they are acting on Sobolev’s behest. It is most probable that without their leader they will achieve nothing, but Russia will be plunged into bloody chaos and the supreme authority will be utterly compromised. By comparison with Sobolev’s gentlemen, the Decembrists will come to seem like naughty children. And now allow me to lay the task before you in all its baffling complexity.”

He summed up briskly, slashing at the darkness with a white-gloved hand.

“Sobolev must be eliminated in such a way that his death will appear natural to the general public and not provoke its indignation. We shall organize a sumptuous funeral, set up a monument to him, and even name some ship or other in his honor. Russia cannot be deprived of her only national hero. At the same time, however, Sobolev must die in such a way that his coconspirators will be demoralized and unable to rally around his banner. While remaining a hero in the eyes of the common crowd, he must be stripped of his halo for the conspirators. And so you can see for yourself that such a task is far beyond any novice. Tell me, is it really possible at all?”

For the first time the speaker’s voice betrayed a note of something akin to uncertainty.

Achimas asked: “How and when shall I receive the remainder of the money?”

Monsieur NN sighed in relief.

“When Sobolev leaves for Moscow, he will be carrying all the funds for the conspiracy with him — about a million rubles. Preparations for a coup require substantial expenditures. After killing Sobolev, you will take the money for yourself. I trust that you can manage that task with no difficulty?”

“Today is the twenty-first of June by the Russian calendar. You say that the coup has been set for the beginning of July. When is Sobolev leaving for Moscow?”

“Tomorrow. Or the day after at the very latest. And he will be there until the twenty-seventh. Then he will pay a visit to his estate in Ryazan and go directly from there to St. Petersburg. We know that he has arranged meetings with his generals for the twenty-fifth, twenty-sixth, and twenty-seventh, for which they will make a special journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow. But I will not name any unnecessary names. Without Sobolev, these people are not dangerous. In time we shall retire them quietly, with no publicity. But it would be better if Sobolev had no chance to meet with them. We do not wish distinguished generals to besmirch their reputations with state treason.”

“In your circumstances, you cannot afford to be so considerate,” said Achimas with sudden abruptness. The task was difficult enough without the time allowed being shortened unnecessarily. “You wish me to complete the task before the twenty-fifth of June, that is, you are giving me only three days. It is rather short notice. I shall do my best, but I can promise nothing.”

That same day Achimas paid his assistants what was due to them and dismissed them — he had no more need of their services.

He himself boarded the night train to Moscow.

According to a system of classification that Achimas had developed earlier in his life, the current task belonged to the fourth and highest category of difficulty: the disguised murder of a celebrity with an extremely tight deadline and the complication of additional conditions.

There were three difficulties.

First, the target’s strong and devoted bodyguard.

Second, the need to imitate a natural death.

Third, the fact that in the eyes of the general public the death had to appear respectable, but a narrow circle of initiates must regard it as shameful.

Interesting.

In anticipation of fruitful mental endeavor, Achimas settled himself comfortably on the small velvet divan in the first-class carriage. Ten hours of traveling ought to suffice. He didn’t need to sleep — when necessary, he could go without sleep for three or even four days. He had his training with Uncle Chasan to thank for that.

Also, der Reihe nach.*
He took out the information that the client had provided at his request. This was a complete dossier on Sobolev that had clearly taken several years to compile; a detailed biography including his service record, interests, and connections. Achimas failed to discover in it a single useful eccentricity that might offer some leverage — Sobolev was not a gambler, or an opium addict, or a dipsomaniac. His character reference was dominated by the word ‘excellent’: an excellent horseman, excellent marksman, excellent billiards player. Very well.

Achimas moved on to the ‘interests’ section. Drinks in moderation, prefers Chateau d’Yquem, smokes Brazilian cigars, likes romantic Russian ballads, especially ‘The Rowan Tree’ (composer Mr. I. Surikov). Yes, yes.

“Intimate habits.” Alas, disappointment awaited Achimas here as well. Not a homosexual, not a disciple of the Marquis de Sade, not a pedophile. Formerly, it seemed, he was a well-known womanizer, but for the last two years he had remained faithful to his mistress, Ekaterina Golovina, a teacher at the Minsk girls’ grammar school. There was information to the effect that a month ago he had offered to legitimize their relationship, but for some unknown reason Golovina had refused him, and the relationship was broken off. Right, there was something in this.

* And so, everything in order. (German) Achimas looked pensively out of the window. He picked up the next document, which detailed the names and character references of officers in Sobolev’s retinue. For the most part they were men of the world who had seen military action. When he traveled, the general was always accompanied by at least seven or eight men. Sobolev never went anywhere alone. That was bad. Even worse was the fact that the food the general ate was checked, not just by one taster, but by two: his senior orderly, the Cossack captain Gukmasov, and his personal valet.

However, the only possible way to imitate a natural death without arousing suspicion was to use poison. An accident would not suit — they always left a lingering odor of suspicion.

How could he bypass the tasters and give his mark the poison? Who was closer to Sobolev than his orderly and valet?

Apparently no one was. There was his old flame in Minsk; no doubt he had eaten from her hands without having the food checked. But the relationship had been broken off.

Stop! That thought clearly pointed in the right direction. A woman could get closer to a man than anyone else, even if he had only made her acquaintance recently. Always assuming, naturally, that they entered into intimate relations. In that case the adjutants and the valets would have to wait outside the door.

So, when had Sobolev broken things off with his mistress? A month ago. He must be famished by now — he would have had no time for love affairs on maneuvers, and they would have been reported in the file. He was a hot-blooded man, in the very prime of life. And in addition he was plotting an enterprise so risky that he could not possibly know how it would turn out for him.

Achimas half-closed his eyes.

Sitting opposite him were a lady and her son, a junior cadet. She was talking to him in a low voice, trying to persuade him to behave himself and stop wriggling.

“You see, Sergei, that gentleman is trying to work and you’re being naughty,” the lady said in French.

The boy looked at the neat, blond-haired man in the fine-quality gray jacket. The German had spread out some boring papers on his knees and was moving his lips without speaking.

The German glanced at the cadet from under his eyebrows and suddenly winked with a pale eye.

Sergei scowled.

The renowned Achilles did have a vulnerable heel, and one that was not particularly original, Achimas concluded. There was no point in trying to be too clever and reinvent the bicycle. The simpler the method, the surer.

The logic of the operation defined itself: