Stuart Kaminsky: The Man Who Walked Like a Bear

“You’re not going to kill me?” asked Sasha.

“No,” said Peotor. “Not yet, not unless we have to. Are you disappointed?”

“No,” said Sasha.

“We can be friends,” said Sonia, happily turning the barrel of the pistol in Sasha’s direction.

“You’re going to keep me here?” Sasha asked.

“No,” said Kotsis. “You are going to put out your hands in a few minutes so that Sonia can put handcuffs on you. Then we will go to a car and take you someplace out of town.”

“Where?” asked Sasha.

“Why is it that you don’t seem particularly surprised by all this?” said Peotor Kotsis, looking a bit puzzled. “A bit frightened, yes. I’ve learned to recognize that, but not surprised.”

Sasha was about to answer when the door through which he and Sonia had come burst off its hinges and skidded across the floor. Kotsis turned his gun toward the sound, but two quick shots from the doorway tore into his chest. The gun in Kotsis’s hand flew across the room and hit the wall. A spray of bullets spat out, thudding into the wall.

Sasha was on the floor now, his eyes on Sonia, who watched her father slump to the floor. She turned, her hand still clutching the cup of hot liquid, and faced the figure in the doorway who had shot her father. Her hand reached for Sasha’s gun.

“No!” Sasha cried.

Zelach stood in the doorway, his pistol leveled at the girl, but he hesitated. At that instant, Sonia smiled at Sasha, lifted his pistol to her mouth, pulled the trigger, and blew off the top of her head.

“God!” Sasha screamed.

Zelach stepped into the room, his pistol leveled at the fallen Peotor Kotsis. “Dead,” he said.

Porfiry Petrovich stepped through the doorway and looked at Sasha, who sat shaking on the floor. Rostnikov put an arm around the younger man and helped him to his feet.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Tkach said.

“I know,” said Rostnikov.

Tkach’s eyes were wide and focused on the mutilated body of the girl who moments before had been smiling.

“You were late,” Tkach said, trembling, near breakdown.

“You moved quickly,” said Rostnikov. “I do not move so quickly.”

“I mean it, Porfiry Petrovich,” he said as Zelach turned and Rostnikov nodded to him. Zelach left the room in search of a phone.

“You mean it now,” said Rostnikov. “I have meant it each time. You did very well.”

“Very well?” said Sasha, looking more than a bit wild, his hair dangling over his eyes. “They’re dead.”

“And you are alive, Sasha,” said Rostnikov. “We’ll talk more of this later. Now I need your help. There is still a bus and a driver to find, and more people will die if we do not find them. You understand, Sasha, when the others discover what has happened here, they will probably want to do something very violent. We must find them, Sasha. You and I. We must find them.”

“Yes,” said Sasha, panting. “We must find them.”

“We must search these rooms quickly, Sasha,” he said. “Zelach is calling this in. The KGB will be involved. We must search these rooms and find something to lead us to the rest of these people.”

Sasha nodded his head, stood up straight, and brushed back his hair.

“Then let’s do it,” he said.

Too many variables. That is what the KGB officer thought as he paced his room. Too many variables. The knock came and he moved to his desk, sat, composed himself, folded his hands, and told the man at the door to enter.

The man came in, closed the door behind him, and moved in front of the desk.

“Sit,” said the KGB officer.

“You know about the call?” Vadim said, sitting. He had never before been invited to sit in this office. He took it as a bad sign.

“Variables,” said the KGB officer.

“Variables, yes,” said Vadim. He didn’t like what was going on here, didn’t like it at all. The officer was always composed, superior. There were signs here of concern, and if the officer was concerned, Vadim had reason to be concerned, too.

“Go on,” said the officer.

“Both Rostnikov and Tkach are devoting full attention to what now appears to be a terrorist situation,” Vadim said. “I would assume Rostnikov will pull the other one, Karpo, from his case to join them. The investigative bureau has officially been brought in and is taking over the situation. It is now a KGB operation, but …”

“… but that will not stop Rostnikov,” the officer said.

Vadim shrugged.

“It is in our best interest to conclude the situation as soon as possible,” he said.

“Find the terrorists. Finish them. Our plan requires that this be concluded quickly. Every minute, every hour this goes on we run the risk of being discovered,” the KGB man said.

Vadim nodded in agreement.

Emil Karpo concluded before noon that Andrei Morchov was safely inside the walls of the Kremlin and would be there till at least seven that night for meetings. This much he had learned directly from Morchov’s secretary after identifying himself.

He called in to Petrovka to let the duty officer know he was proceeding to another investigation. Rostnikov, calling Petrovka seconds later, missed him, but left a message.

Karpo spent most of the afternoon tracking down informants and getting a line on a meat dealer who seemed to be a promising lead, not necessarily because he would be the one dealing in the meat of dead cats and dogs but that he would be likely to know who was doing so. Karpo checked his notebook and at a few minutes after three decided, since he was not far from Dynamo Stadium, to interview a ticket saleswoman who had witnessed an armed robbery two years earlier. He had interviewed her six months ago, but there were a few variations on earlier questions he wished to try.

By five, Emil Karpo was sitting at his desk in his apartment, carefully copying the notes he had taken into the properly filed black notebooks on the shelves that lined his room.

The knock on his door was firm and confident. If Karpo were given to or capable of smiling, he would be smiling now as he rose, moved a few feet across the room, and opened the door to Yuri Vostoyavek.

“Come in,” he said, and the boy entered.

“I’ve been following you,” Yuri said aggressively.

“I know,” said Karpo. “There is only one chair. You may sit.”

“I don’t want to sit,” Yuri said, facing Karpo.

“You are not tired?”

“Of course I’m tired,” the boy said. “You’ve been running me all over the city for hours.”

“You did well,” said Karpo. “I didn’t pick you up till I left my office.”

They were facing each other as they had the previous night in Yuri’s room.

“You have something to tell me?” asked Karpo.

“I’d like to beat the hell out of you,” said the boy.

“A natural reaction,” said Karpo. “But beyond that?”

“You are a policeman,” said Yuri.

“I am aware of that,” said Karpo.

“I’m not afraid of you,” said Yuri.

“You’re not?”

“Well, I am, but it makes no difference. That’s not why I’m going to say this,” Yuri said. “I’ve given up … what I was considering. You understand?”

“I understand,” said Karpo.

“But … I can’t stop Jalna. She plans to … I think she might… She has my gun … tonight. When he gets back to the dacha. She said … I can’t get out there. They stop me when I try.”

“Then,” said Karpo, “I suggest we go together.”

It was a bit after six. If they hurried, Karpo could get a car on an emergency requisition and they could get to

Morchov’s dacha by seven-thirty if they rode the center lane all the way.

By six, when Peotor had not returned, Vasily and the girl Lia went to the nearby village to call Sonia. They left the three others with Boris Trush, who was ordered to ready his bus for action “very soon.”