Филип Керр - Dead Meat

‘I wish I had my rifle,’ said Nikolai. ‘I could put some real meat on the table.’ He lifted an imaginary gun to his shoulder and pretended to take aim at the animal. ‘And those antlers: they would look great on my living-room wall.’

For my own part I preferred to think of the elk alive; as something magnificent. There was precious little dignity to be found in any other variety of Russian life. It was true the beast seemed to have no idea where it was going any more than it knew why it was going there. But probably it would get there in the end and in that there might have been a message of hope for us all.

After we had charged the Georgians and locked them up for the night Grushko spent an hour discussing the forthcoming operation with the OMON squad commander and General Kornilov. When finally he emerged from this meeting he asked me about Gidaspov and his secretary, who were still waiting in an adjoining office.

‘I can’t let them go,’ he said, ‘but I can’t just lock them up downstairs with the rest of the scum. That’s the way we did things in the old days. What do you think?’

‘How about taking them to a hotel?’ I suggested. ‘A nice room with a TV and a bathroom, but no telephone, and a militiaman outside the door.’

Grushko snapped his fingers.

‘I know just the place,’ he said. ‘The Smolensky on Rastrelli Square. It used to be the Party VIP hotel. Now it’s mostly European television crews staying there, but the place is owned by the city, so we’ll get a cheap rate.’

He picked up the phone and made the arrangements. Half an hour later, Gidaspov and the girl were on their way.

‘Well, that was easily solved,’ said Grushko and looked at his watch. ‘Now all I have to do is go home and tell the wife that I’m going to be late for this dinner she’s giving for our future son-in-law and his family tomorrow night.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Well, it’s not as if I can ask the Mafia if they can reschedule their delivery for a more convenient night, is it? All the same, she’s going to have my guts for breakfast. I don’t suppose you’ve any bright ideas on that one, have you?’

I smiled and collected my briefcase from the floor beside Grushko’s desk. I took out a bar of chocolate and handed it to him.

‘A present from Moscow,’ I said.

‘You must be psychic,’ he breathed. ‘But I can’t take your chocolate—’

‘It’s not mine,’ I said. ‘It’s my wife’s. I nicked it from her when I was at home.’ I shrugged. ‘The fat cow eats too much chocolate already. Her cupboards were full of it. The music teacher must have a connection somewhere.’

‘If you’re sure,’ said Grushko and put the chocolate in his own briefcase. ‘Thanks. It’ll make a useful peace-offering.’

I shrugged modestly and hoped that there was nobody in Grushko’s family who spoke German. The chocolate was already two years past its sell-by date. But then, even two-year-old chocolate is better than no chocolate at all.

The next morning everyone was in early to hear Grushko describe the evening’s operation in the briefing-room. The OMON squad attended, as did General Kornilov, Lieutenant Khodyrev and Captain Novdyrov of the GAI — the State Automobile Inspectorate. Alek manned the lights, Andrei the blinds and Sasha operated the slide projector. Nikolai had driven over to ASA.

‘May I have your attention, please,’ said Grushko. ‘This afternoon’s realisation, codename Meathook, will be commanded by me and will commence at 1600 hours.’

He reached up and drew down a map of St Petersburg and its surrounding area.

‘There are two stages to this operation,’ he explained. ‘The first stage is as follows: Captain Novdyrov’s GAI will take up a position about fifteen kilometres south of Gatcina on the M20 to Pskov. At the same time a unit of the OMON squad, myself and Nikolai, will take up a position about five kilometres further north. Just before the airport there’s a Sovinterauto service station and next to it a sort of lay-by and a line of trees.

‘When the convoy passes the GAI, a patrol car will pursue it and bring the tail vehicle to a halt as close to our position as possible. We’ll be parked behind the trees so they won’t see us. The GAI men will ask the driver and his mate to step out of the cab and follow them to the rear of the vehicle, on the pretext of a faulty brake-light. But when they get there they’ll find two OMON squad officers, myself and Nikolai waiting for them. Having persuaded them not to continue with their journey—’

Grushko paused for their laughter.

‘—Nikolai and I will take their places in the truck cab. Right now he should be familiarising himself with one of the Anglo-Soyuzatom trucks that’s currently off the road.

‘We will then follow the rest of the convoy and, using walkie-talkies, we will direct the main force of the OMON squad to wherever they are planning to unload the stolen meat. We’re not sure as to how many men the other side will be fielding; however you can bet they’ll all be well-armed and more inclined to shoot than not. But according to our informers, there are three faces we do expect to see.’ He nodded at Alek. ‘Lights, please.’

Sasha switched the projector on. The first slide was of a mug-shot from the files.

‘Kazimir Cherep, also known as the Little Cossack,’ said Grushko. ‘A team leader for the Ukrainian gang here in Peter. Born Kiev, 1958. Served five years in the zone for attempted murder. And the next one, please, Sasha.’

Sasha moved the second slide into the projector.

‘Stepan Starovyd, born Dnepropetrovsk, 1956, also known as the Wrestler on account of his having once been the army heavyweight wrestling champion. He would have gone to the Olympics but for drugs charges that earned him two years in the zone. But rope swallower or not, he’s a big boy, so don’t let him put his arms around you.

‘These two men were almost certainly responsible for the murders of Mikhail Milyukin, Vaja Ordzhonikidze and one other man. So you can imagine how keen we are to get hold of them. Sasha?’

Grushko’s audience looked at the third face from Criminal Records.

‘Volodimir Khmara. Born Zaporozje, 1955. A known black-marketeer. One conviction for theft. This is the character who has been selling the contaminated meat to the cooperative restaurants in Peter. And the last one, please, Sasha.’

The fourth and last photograph was different from the previous mugshots. It was a longer-distance shot of an older man wearing a black leather coat and getting out of a Mercedes that was parked in front of the Maryinsky Theatre, home of the Kirov Opera and Ballet.

‘Last, but by no means least, we have Viktor Bosenko. Born Dnepropetrovsk, 1946. Also known as the Black Swan because of his reputed love of the ballet. One conviction for currency offences during the late 1970s, but nothing since then. We’ve long suspected that Bosenko is the godfather who runs the whole Ukrainian underworld here in Peter. We don’t actually know how much he’s directly involved in this particular crime, but the chances are he knows about it. So take a good look at that face just in case he should put in an appearance.’ Grushko looked over at Andrei, ‘Can we have the blinds up, please?’

Sasha switched off the projector while Andrei lifted the blinds.

‘Any questions?’

One of the OMON squad men raised his hand.

‘Why the switch?’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler just to follow them?’

‘We can’t take the chance that when the convoy reaches the city it won’t be watched by the Mafia. If they see a tail then that’ll be it finished. We would use a helicopter but for the fact that the air force refused to lend us one unless we let them control the whole realisation. Which would probably mean them taking the credit.’