William Ryan - The Twelfth Department

Dubinkin had a cheek to feign concern, and Korolev found his irritation turning to anger. He’d face the consequences of his actions. But he was damned if he’d be made fun of.

“Did your boss Zaitsev send you here to do his dirty work?” he said, and could hear the bitterness in his voice.

“No,” Dubinkin said, with what appeared to be genuine amusement. “I’ve only ever had one boss. And Comrade Colonel Rodinov is a very pleased man this evening. Your investigation has turned from defeat to triumph. How did you know Dr. Weiss had a copy of Shtange’s report?”

“I didn’t,” Korolev said.

“Well,” Dubinkin said, smiling, “then you’re the luckiest man alive.”

In all the excitement, no one had bothered to ask how Slivka and Korolev had made their way out this far from Moscow, at night, on their own. Nor had anyone questioned how the two of them, again on their own, had managed to secure the entire facility. And as no one asked, Korolev decided not to mention that the Chief Authority of the Moscow Thieves and his right-hand man were waiting for them in the woods—or had been, until the NKVD cars showed up at least. No, he’d kept his mouth shut and thanked the all-merciful Lord above him that, for the moment at least, things seemed to have taken a surprising turn for the better.

During the drive back to Moscow in a car full of large men, however, the reality of his situation began to dawn on him. And during two hours waiting in a Lubyanka corridor to talk to Rodinov, the reality had hit home, and hard. The slow passing of each minute made him more and more conscious that certain questions were going to be asked once the colonel called him in. And he knew Rodinov well enough by now to know that when they were asked, there wouldn’t be much point in lying.

So by the time a lean, hungry-looking type had come to fetch him to see the colonel—well—it wasn’t just the close atmosphere that was making his shirt damp with sweat.

“Korolev.” The colonel looked up from a typed sheet of paper that he appeared to be signing. He followed Korolev’s gaze to the document and, to Korolev’s surprise, smiled.

“Do you know what this is, Korolev?”

Korolev shook his head. As far as he was concerned the colonel could sit there naked as God intended, singing “Kalinka Malinka” and it would be none of his business.

“I’ve no idea, Comrade Colonel.”

“I’ll tell you. My first orders as the head of the Twelfth Department.”

“I congratulate you, Comrade Colonel.” It seemed the thing to say.

The colonel scribbled what might have been a signature, put his pen down, and leaned back in his chair to examine Korolev.

“It’s been a hard evening for you. Dubinkin said you looked like you thought your last hour had come.”

“I thought he was working for Zaitsev.”

“He was, in a manner of speaking. But he’s always worked for me. Blanter and Svalov came to me later in the game, when they saw which way the wind was blowing.”

“I see that now. But at the time…”

“I can imagine. Dubinkin said you didn’t know Weiss had a copy of the report?”

“I knew he had something.”

“Well, whatever you said to Weiss, he felt obliged to pass the report on to Boldyrev.”

“I don’t even know who this Boldyrev is.”

“Comrade Boldyrev is the newly appointed People’s Commissar for Health. Haven’t you read the papers over the last few days?”

Rodinov smiled at his own joke, and opened a metal cigarette case. One that Korolev had seen before somewhere. It had a propeller engraved on its cover.

“Well, you know now—and when Weiss told him about the report, Boldyrev saw an opportunity to prove himself worthy of promotion to People’s Commissar. So he showed it to Molotov. And Molotov showed it to Comrade Stalin. And Comrade Stalin decreed that Zaitsev should be arrested. And he has been.”

Rodinov lit a cigarette and pushed the box over to Korolev. “It was Dr. Shtange who gave Weiss his copy of the report, of course. He knew the contents were damning but he felt loyalty to an outdated academic convention that required him to show it to Azarov before he gave it to the person who’d commissioned it—or in this case, his successor. But just in case things went badly, he thought he’d leave a copy of the report with Weiss for safe keeping.”

Korolev nodded as though he understood. But he didn’t.

“Shtange must have told Azarov there was another copy in existence,” the colonel continued. “As a kind of insurance in case Azarov tried anything, I suppose. And Azarov must have told Zaitsev about it—that’s how Zaitsev knew there were at least two copies for you to look for.”

Korolev took a cigarette, listening to the colonel but sneaking another quick look at the cigarette box. He’d seen it only days before, he was sure—and it hadn’t been in this room.

“Zaitsev didn’t know who had the second copy—no one did—and, of course, you inadvertently removed Azarov’s copy before he could place his hands on that one. So all Zaitsev knew about the report was what he’d been told by Azarov on the phone—and that was enough to frighten him, but not too much. Until, that is, Azarov showed up with a bullet in his head and his copy wasn’t to be found. Then he began to become concerned. And he became very concerned when Shtange was murdered and his copy couldn’t be found either. Well, you can only imagine—I shouldn’t be surprised if he thought I was behind the whole thing.”

Korolev was tired enough that if he’d been a horse he’d have been put down—but the cigarette case was bothering him. He should remember where he’d seen it.

“So that’s why Zaitsev stripped all the paperwork and books from the apartment. To try to find the report before anyone else got their hands on it.”

“Just in case, however, he shut down the institute. He reasoned that without the institute there’d be next to no evidence to back up the allegations contained in the report. And he was right. Comrade Ezhov hasn’t fully settled in as Chief of State Security yet and has enough on his plate, believe me, without going after someone like Zaitsev. So Zaitsev must have felt he was safe—until, of course, someone showed the report to Comrade Stalin himself. Which Comrade Molotov did yesterday evening.”

Korolev had never seen the colonel so—well—ebullient.

“And it’s all thanks to you.”

“I only did my duty,” Korolev said.

“Well, not quite.” The colonel looked stern for a moment, but the effort seemed too much for him. He shook his head as if Korolev had done something that had amused him.

“Don’t worry, Korolev, I’ll overlook what happened out in Lefortovo. As far as I’m concerned you were looking for evidence of Colonel Zaitsev’s crimes and that’s that. The fact you may have had some unorthodox assistance and seem to have made off with two children is—well—neither here nor there, as far as I’m concerned.”

Korolev didn’t know what to say.

“Yes.” The colonel nodded. “That’s the way to leave things—as they are. Your son, I hope, is safe?”

“I hope so,” Korolev said, trying to maintain a somber expression while relief was singing in his veins. “I’ll find out soon.”

“And so, you’ll be pleased to hear, is your wife. Your ex-wife rather. But a word of advice for her—she should leave Zagorsk. I can only intervene once. She might be better off moving to the new territories we’re opening up in Siberia—they need good engineers there, and a fresh start will do her no harm.”

Korolev thought about that—about Yuri going even farther away. And he felt a small part of his pleasure in the boy’s safety diminish.