Boris Akunin - The State Counsellor

'Let me repeat that again, so that you blockheads will finally remember it. When detaining a group of political suspects, proceed as follows. First - stun them. Break in, making a din, yelling and banging and crashing, so you set their knees knocking. Even a brave man freezes when he's taken by surprise.

Second - immobilise them. Make sure every single detainee is rooted to the spot and can't even move a finger, let alone open their mouths. Third - search them for weapons. Did you do that? Ah? You, Guskov, it's you I'm asking; you were the senior man at the raid.' Mylnikov stopped in front of a middle-aged plain-clothes man with red slime streaming out of his flattened nose.

'Evstratii Pavlovich, Your Honour,' Guskov boomed. 'They was only small fry, snot-nosed kids, that was obvious straight off. Got a seasoned eye, I have.'

'I'll give you another one in that eye of yours,' the collegiate assessor said amicably. 'Don't even try to think, you numskull. Just do it right. And the fourth thing - keep a close watch on all the detainees all the time. But you sloppy dunces go and let a young lady take a pop-gun out of her reticule and none of you even see it. Right, then ...' Mylnikov clasped his hands behind his back and swayed back on his heels.

The agents waited for his verdict with baited breath.

'Only Shiryaev and Zhulko will receive gratuities. Fifteen roubles each, from me personally, for the arrest of a dangerous terrorist. And that goes in the official orders. As for you, Guskov, it's a ten-rouble fine. And one month's demotion from senior agent to the ranks. I reckon as that's fair, don't you?'

'I'm sorry, Your Honour,' said the punished man, hanging his head. 'Only don't take me off operations work. I'll make it up to you, I swear to God.'

All right, I believe you.'

Mylnikov turned towards Erast Petrovich and pretended to have only just noticed him.

'Delightful of you to drop in, Mr Fandorin. Pyotr Ivanovich and Zubtsov have been chatting with our friend for the best part of an hour and getting nowhere.'

'He refuses to talk?' the State Counsellor asked as he followed Mylnikov up the narrow winding stairs.

'On the contrary. He's a cocky one. I listened for a bit and then left. Nothing's going to come of it anyway. After what happened today Pyotr Ivanovich's nerves are a bit jittery. And then he's a bit vexed it was you and me as nabbed such a big fish,' Evstratii Pavlovich added in conspiratorial tones, half-turning round as he spoke.

They were conducting the interrogation in the boss's office. Fandorin's jovial acquaintance was sitting on a chair in the middle of the spacious room. It was a special chair, massive, with straps on the two front legs and the armrests. The prisoner's arms and legs were strapped down so tight that he could only move his head. The commanding officer of the Department of Security was standing on one side of him, and standing on the other was a lean gentleman of rather agreeable appearance who looked about twenty-seven, with a narrow English moustache.

Burlyaev scowled as he nodded to Fandorin and complained: 'A hardened villain. I've been flogging away for an hour now, and all for nothing. He won't even tell us his name.'

'What meaning has my name for thee?' the impudent prisoner asked the Lieutenant Colonel in a soulful voice. 'My darling, it will perish in a doleful murmur.'

Paying no attention to this insolent remark, the Lieutenant Colonel introduced the other man: 'Sergei Vitalievich Zubtsov. I told you about him.'

The lean man bowed respectfully and smiled at Erast Petrovich in an extremely affable manner.

'Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Fandorin. And even more delighted to be working with you.'

Aha,' the prisoner exclaimed in delight. 'Fandorin! That's right; now I see the grey temples. Didn't spot them before, I was in too much of a hurry. Why are you just standing there, gentlemen? Seize him, he killed that old ass Khrapov!' He laughed, delighted with his own joke.

'With your permission, I'll proceed,' Zubtsov said to both of his superiors and turned to face the criminal. All right, we know you're a member of the Combat Group and you were involved in the assassination of General Khrapov. You have just implicidy admitted that you were in possession of a description of the State Counsellor's appearance. We also know that your accomplices are in Moscow at present. Even if the prosecution is unable to prove your involvement in the assassination, you are still facing the severest possible penalty. You killed a man and offered armed resistance to representatives of the law. That is quite enough to send you to the gallows.'

Unable to restrain himself, Burlyaev interrupted: 'Do you realise, you scum, that you're going to dangle at the end of a rope? It's a terrible way to die, I've seen it more than once. First the man starts croaking and thrashing about. Sometimes for as long as fifteen minutes - it all depends how the knot's tied. Then his tongue flops out of his gullet, his eyes pop out of his skull and all the filth drains out of his belly. Remember the Bible, about Judas? 'And falling headlong he burst asunder in the midst and all his bowels gushed out.'"

Zubtsov cast a reproachful glance at Burlyaev: he evidently felt that these were the wrong tactics.

The prisoner responded lightheartedly to the threatening words: 'So what, I'll croak a bit and then stop. I'll be beyond caring then, but afterwards you'll have to clean up my shit. That's what your job is, fat-face.'

The Lieutenant Colonel struck the defiant man a sharp, crunching blow in the mouth.

'Pyotr Ivanovich!' Zubtsov exclaimed in protest, even taking the liberty of seizing his superior by the arm. 'This is absolutely impermissible. You are bringing the authorities into disrepute!'

Burlyaev turned his head in fury and was clearly about to put the insolent subordinate in his place, but at that point Erast Petrovich struck his cane against the floor and said in a commanding voice: 'Stop this!'

The Lieutenant Colonel pulled his arm free, breathing heavily. The terrorist spat a thick gob of blood out on to the floor, together with his two front teeth, then stared at the Lieutenant Colonel with a gleam in his blue eyes and a gap-toothed smile.

'I beg your pardon, Mr Fandorin,' Burlyaev growled reluctantly. 'I got carried away. You can see for yourself what a fine hero we have here. What would you have me do with someone like this?'

'What is your opinion, Sergei Vitalievich?' the State Counsellor asked the likeable young man.

Zubtsov rubbed the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, but he replied immediately, with no hesitation. 'I think we are wasting our time here. I would postpone the interrogation.'

'Qu-Quite right. And what we should also do, Mr Lieutenant Colonel, is the following. Immediately draw up a verbal portrait of the prisoner and carry out a thorough Bertillonage, complete in every detail. And then send the description and the results of the anthropometric measurements to the Police Department by telegram. They might possibly have a file on this man there. And be so good as to make haste. The message must reach St Petersburg no later than an hour from now.'

Once again - how many times was it now in the last twenty-four hours - Fandorin walked along Tverskaya Boulevard, which was entirely deserted at this dead hour of night. The long day that seemed so reluctant to end had brought a bit of everything -raging blizzards, quiet snowfalls, and sudden, bright interludes of sunshine; but the night was filled with a calm solemnity: the soft light of the gas lamps, the white silhouettes of the trees that seemed to be draped with muslin, the gentle, gliding fall of the snowflakes.

The State Counsellor himself did not really understand why he had declined the official state sleigh until he felt the fresh, untrampled snow on the pathway crunching crisply beneath his feet. He needed to rid himself of a painful, nagging sense of defilement: if he didn't, he would not be able to sleep in any case.