Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Alina asked, “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

“Nationality?”

“British.”

Alina’s eyes narrowed. The baby’s cries were now echoing down the stairwell. Quickly, she released the chain, opened the door, turned, and hurried off toward the sound of the baby. Will entered the apartment, shut the door, and followed her into a small bedroom containing a cot. Alina lifted the baby, placed a hand underneath the swaddling and patted it against the girl’s diapers, then rocked the baby until her sobbing began to recede. “Men’s voices upset her. Probably she heard you.”

Will nodded and withdrew into a tiny living room containing a worn sofa, one dining chair, a side table, an old television set, and a carpet that was threadbare in places but immaculately clean. He sat on the chair and waited.

A few minutes later Alina reappeared alone. The baby was still crying. “I can only hope she sleeps soon.” She looked at him. “Would you like a hot drink?”

Will shook his head and said quietly, “That’s very kind, but I’m not staying long.”

Keeping her eyes on him, she moved to the sofa and sat. “What’s your interest in Lenka?”

“I’m a private investigator and have been instructed by a client to check on the welfare of Mr. Yevtushenko. My client’s concerned that he’s done something stupid and is in danger. He’s run away from his work and Russia.”

“Who’s your client?”

“I’m not allowed to say. It’s sensitive.”

“A British private investigator in Minsk, looking for a Russian diplomat, and with a client who can’t be named?” Alina smiled. “I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sure you’re not and will therefore realize that some things are best left unsaid.”

Alina shook her head. “Perhaps, but I have no reason to help you or the people you represent.”

Will studied her. Suzy was right. Alina certainly had above-average looks. She was tall for a woman and wore delicately applied makeup, beige cords, and an elegant V-neck sweater that looked nothing like the dowdy clothing he’d expected her to be in. “You and your child live here alone?”

“Just us.”

“Do you work?”

“I teach poetry, part time at one of the local universities. The campus has a nursery so it suits me.” She looked around, then locked her gaze on Will, her expression now hostile. “If you’re thinking of offering me British money, forget it. I might not live in the nicest place, but we manage just fine.”

“You’re sure about that?” Will held her gaze, then sighed. “I’m not here to offer you money. Honestly, I think Lenka might be out of his depth. I’m here to help him.”

“The British are here to help a Russian man? Are you sure about that?”

Will leaned forward. “Has anyone else been here to speak to you?”

Alina shrugged and looked away.

“Belarusians? Perhaps the Russians?” He lowered his voice. “Yes, I’m sure the Russians have been here, haven’t they?”

She returned her attention to him. “You’re not worried about my Yevtushenko. He’s done something or got something that you want.”

“Do you know what that might be?”

“He never spoke to me about his work.”

“Did the Russians tell you what it might be?”

“I didn’t say they were here.”

“Nor did you deny it.”

A clock chimed. Will looked at it-a small silver antique carriage clock with beautiful engravings. He frowned, then said, “We are looking for something. And if we can get that something, there is every hope that we can extract Lenka from men who he shouldn’t be mixing with.”

“And then what? Put him in a cell and beat him?”

“No. Bring him to you.”

Alina waved her hand dismissively before placing it against a necklace that matched her earrings. It had to be a replica, but could easily have been mistaken for a genuine diamond pendant.

“You don’t love him anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why wouldn’t you want to see him again?”

“When did I say. .?” Her expression became hostile again. “I don’t know where he is, I haven’t heard from him, and I’ve no desire to help a British stranger.” She spat, “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Even if I did, would it be of any value to you?”

“It would be a lie.”

“Exactly.”

She breathed deeply while staring at him, her hand falling to the tatty sofa arm. “You’ve wasted your time.”

Will looked at the clock again and saw that next to it were three books containing the works of the Russian poets Nikolay Gumilyov, Osip Mandelstam, and Ivan Krylov. Clad in leather binding, they looked as though they’d been professionally restored. They were wrapped with silk ties that had been knotted in bows. He smiled. “He bought you things, didn’t he?”

Alina frowned.

“Expensive things.”

She said nothing.

“Clothes, French makeup, real diamond jewelry, a timepiece, books, no doubt other things.” His smile vanished as he looked at her. “I wonder how he got the money to pay for them.”

Silence.

“Because I can’t imagine that his government salary was that good.” He nodded toward the little bedroom. “Is she his?”

Alina’s face flushed, her eyes looked venomous. “None of your damn business.”

“Or is your Yevtushenko but one of many lovers and she is the result?”

“How dare you!” Alina rose quickly. “Get out!”

But Will remained seated. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the gifts have come from many men.”

“I am not that type of woman!”

“Then what type of woman are you?”

Alina’s breathing was fast, her anger vivid.

“Sit down.”

She did not do so.

“Sit down!” Will kept his voice quiet though his tone was now stern. “I came here to help you and your man. I know the Russians have been here. It would have been one of the first things they did after Lenka’s disappearing act. Do you think they have your interests at heart? If they get their hands on him, they’ll throw him in prison. And the men he’s with now-once his value to them is over, they’ll do far worse. Almost certainly, they’ll butcher him.”

Alina’s eyes widened.

“There are three organizations who want what Yevtushenko’s got. None of us are friends.”

“Good! Then you’ll tear yourselves apart.”

Will nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He looked at one of the books, thought for a moment, and said:

Whene’er companions don’t agree,

They work without accord;

And naught but trouble doth result,

Although they all work hard.

One day a Swan, a Pike, a Crab,

Resolved a load to haul.

All three were harnessed to the cart,

And pulled together all.

But though they pulled with all their might,

That cart-load on the bank stuck tight.

The Swan pulled upward to the skies,

The Crab did backward crawl,

The Pike made for the water straight:

This proved no use at all.

Now, which of them was most to blame,

’Tis not for me to say,

But this I know-the load is there,

Unto this very day.

Alina stared at him, her expression different. Her baby’s crying grew softer. “Ivan Krylov’s ‘A Swan, a Pike, and a Crab.’ ” She turned toward the books and frowned. “I’m surprised you. .” She smiled, though when she spoke there was not attempt to hide the sarcasm in her tone. “You think I’ll help you just because you can recite some poetry?”