Stuart Kaminsky - Death Of A Russian Priest

“The world is changing,” Rostnikov admitted.

“We are of the past, Porfiry Petrovich, you and I,” said Klamkin. “Please move back.”

Rostnikov moved back a step.

“I had not the slightest expectation that the threat would work,” said Klamkin. “But the reward may have a better chance. One year of helping us, and we will get you, your wife, and your son out of Russia-to Italy, America, France, wherever, with money. Conditions in Moscow will grow worse before they grow better. Your wife wants to go and she is still not completely recovered. Who knows how many months or years …”

“I’ll consider it,” said Rostnikov.

“None of your colleagues will be harmed,” Klamkin continued. “No criminals will go free. If you wish, your protégés will keep their positions when Colonel Lunacharski takes over. Even the Wolfhound will not suffer. He’ll simply be retired. Only you will know.”

“The price is too high,” said Rostnikov.

Klamkin shook his head and turned to the big man at his side. “Wait outside,” he ordered.

The big man did not respond immediately. Klamkin turned his large head toward the man without taking his eyes from Rostnikov and repeated, “Wait outside.”

This time the big man left. Klamkin closed the door behind him. “I’m supposed to shoot you if I think you will not accept the colonel’s offer,” said Klamkin. “We have a scapegoat, a man with a criminal record for breaking into homes. You just met him.”

Rostnikov nodded.

“Our department will track him down tomorrow and he will die in an effort to escape. We will be given full credit for the swift action in finding the murderer of a highly respected Moscow police officer.”

“You are not going to shoot.”

“I am not going to shoot you, Porfiry Petrovich, but neither am I putting my gun away. I’ll go back and tell the colonel that you are considering his offer, that you need time. Meanwhile, Porfiry Petrovich, either reconsider or protect yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Rostnikov.

“Just between us, Porfiry Petrovich,” whispered Klamkin, “I like you and I do not like Lunacharski, but …”

“Survival,” said Rostnikov.

“Survival,” agreed Klamkin. As he reached to open the door his Walther was still trained on Rostnikov.

When Klamkin was gone, Rostnikov locked the door. It wasn’t a bad door. He had reinforced it himself, but he knew that no door, not even one of steel, could withstand the technology that the KGB had developed.

In the morning he would decide what to do. The world had changed, but in many ways it had not changed at all. For the world to change truly, people had to change, and that was too much to expect.

When he climbed carefully back into bed, Sarah stirred and stopped snoring. “Were you talking to someone, Porfiry?” she asked sleepily.

“It was the television,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Sleep now,” she said, reaching out for him. “You need your sleep.”

He thought of Galina Panishkoya, seated on that stool, the barrel of a pistol pointed at the head of a frightened shopgirl. He thought about the woman’s grandchildren. “Sarah,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“There are two little girls who may need someplace to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we can take them in for a little while.”

“Maybe. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she said.

He took Sarah gently in his arms as he had at some point each night for almost forty years. He lay on his back, and she rested her head on his right arm and curled up against him. She liked his warmth and purred gently. He liked the coolness of her feet and fingertips.

Then it came to him. Clear and complete. He remembered the apartment he had lived in when he was a child, remembered the sofa with the wooden legs and the spring that hit his back if he moved to the left, remembered the chairs, the windows, the table, the radio with the chip of plastic missing in the front near the dials, remembered even the pattern on the worn-out rug his grandfather had given them and his shoe box filled with lead soldiers. And he remembered quite vividly the faces of his father and mother.

He remembered, and a moment later Rostnikov was asleep.