There was only one place it could be, Karpo concluded, looking at the copies of the maps he had given Rostnikov. It was not likely that she would attack another movie theater. He was unaware that a bomb was being planned for the swimming pool and that Rostnikov had effectively defused it.
What he did know was that the woman had only a few hours if she was to board the plane on which she had a reservation as Louise Rich. He assumed she was probably on her own at this point.
Karpo sat erect at his desk, demanding that the maps yield more than they had to give.
The target had to be something that, when destroyed or damaged, would deeply affect the Soviet Union and whose destruction could not be hidden from the outside world. Thus, it would have to be something very public.
“Something irreplaceable,” he said softly to himself, looking up. His eyes went across the room to Zelach, who had just finished a report and was about to go home, but Karpo’s gaze had caught him in a moment of guilty thought about a bribe someone had offered him, and one he was seriously considering. How much could it hurt to forget about a few illegal telephones? It wasn’t political, probably not even very criminal, and the amount of the bribe was considerable. Yes, Zelach had made up his mind to accept the payment, until he found himself gazing into the steely eyes of the Vampire. The man, he thought, is a damned fanatic. He can probably read my mind. Zelach wilted under the intensity of Karpo’s stare and resolved to turn in the capitalist offender. He got up, walked past Karpo with a grunt, and headed out.
Karpo scarcely noticed him. It would be the Lenin Mausoleum, he decided. If he had read her ego correctly-the use of exotic poison, her impersonation of Aubrey’s widow, the murder of the Frenchwoman-everything indicated that she had a massive sense of her own power.
Of course, he could be wrong. He knew he could be wrong but, by the same token, he had little choice, and so he folded the maps neatly, put them into his top drawer, and rose slowly. His left arm ached slightly, but it was a dull ache, as if he had slept on it. There was no migraine, though he had expected one. It was time.
* * *
Vladimir Ilich Lenin died on January 21, 1924. A wooden mausoleum pyramid was designed and built within two days of his death to hold the embalmed body. In January of that year, the mausoleum was rebuilt and stood until 1930 when it was replaced by the present mausoleum of red granite and black labradorite. The stone structure is exactly the same shape as the wooden one it replaced, but it is permanent. The entrance to the mausoleum, which faces Red Square and the massive GUM, or State Universal Stores, is marked only by the name of Lenin, encrusted in dark red porphyry.
The mausoleum is an essential stop for Russians visiting the capital. It is both a political and cultural mecca and very nearly a religious one. Thousands visit the tomb each month to enter solemnly and gaze at the perfectly preserved face of Lenin, and most of those who come make a point of being in the square to watch the changing of the guard at the mausoleum, which takes place every hour, day and night. The guards, dressed in gray uniforms with two rows of brass buttons down their chests, carry their rifles in their left hands pointing straight to the sky. If the square is not too crowded, a visitor can hear the guards’ black boots strike the pavement as they march from the mausoleum, which lies in the shadow of the Kremlin Wall.
Since it was a Sunday evening and nearly seven-thirty, Karpo did not arrive in time to watch the changing of the guard. Lenin was the symbol of all that Karpo believed in. A photograph could suffice to remind him of the leader, but the mausoleum was the central symbol for the entire nation. And he had made it his responsibility to protect it.
He stood on 25th October Street at the corner of the square scanning the crowd of tourists for a familiar face. But it was still too crowded for him to be confident of catching all the faces in the crowd. This was both a disadvantage and an advantage, for if he did not see her, then she would also have difficulty seeing him.
The clock in Spasskaya, the main Kremlin tower, told him that it was now twenty minutes to eight. He maneuvered slowly, carefully, and watchfully through the crowd. People were gathered in clusters before the bronze doors of the red pyramid of the mausoleum. He slowly approached the mausoleum, glancing at the two uniformed guards who stood stiffly at the door with rifles bayoneted and ready at their sides. Karpo joined a group of about twenty men and women being led by a guide, who jabbered at them in heavily accented German and pointed beyond the mausoleum to the towers of the Kremlin.
It was time either to move toward the greatest humiliation of his life or to engage in the most meaningful act he had ever performed. In his pocket was a small book containing the constitution of the Soviet Union. He took it out and pretended to look at it as if it were a guidebook.
Easing away from the tail end of the crowd of Germans, Karpo, eyes on the book, said in a clear voice to the guards, “I am a police officer. My name is Karpo, and I have reason to believe that an explosive device has been placed inside the tomb.”
He lifted his eyes to the two young, clean-shaven faces and noted that the one on the left reacted slightly.
“Do not react,” Karpo went on, raising his head as if to admire the inscription over the door. “The person who intends to detonate this device may well be watching. I will remain where I stand while you do whatever you are supposed to do in an emergency.”
Karpo, without watching, turned his back on the two guards, glanced up at the Spassky tower and let his eyes drift around the square once more, but there was no sign of the woman. Of course it was possible that she would send someone else, but he doubted it. This was her moment.
Behind him he could hear a movement, slight but distinct. He assumed that one of the guards had a microphone or some other device with which he could summon help. Karpo hoped this was true, for he could not stand there for more than a few minutes without attracting attention, especially if the Germans moved away and no other group moved close.
He turned again, glancing along the wall and beyond the marble stands at the foot of the Kremlin tower to the Nikolsky tower and the gate below. Two men in uniform were moving forward quickly, hands on their flapping holsters. Karpo sauntered in their direction through the group of Germans, still trying to look like a tourist, but knowing that he would fool no one.
He intercepted the two men about a hundred yards to the right of the mausoleum and kept his hands in front of him and clearly visible.
“Major,” he said, stepping in front of them.
The major, a hard-faced man of about forty-five with jaw clenched, flipped open his holster as the officer behind him took two steps to one side and did the same.
“If you will be as inconspicuous as possible,” Karpo said, noting that a few people were looking their way, “you can remove my identification from my right coat pocket. May I warn you that someone may be watching us? If we do not act with speed and caution, we may be too late.”
The major nodded toward the other officer, a young lieutenant, who advanced on Karpo, one hand still on his open holster. Reaching into the policeman’s pocket, he removed the wallet and handed it to the major, who opened it, examined it, and looked at Karpo.
“Lieutenant Aronsov will remain with you while I check on your credentials,” the major said softly.
“There may not be time,” Karpo said, looking at the tower clock which now showed fifteen minutes to eight.
“Damn you,” hissed the major. “Why didn’t you go through proper channels with this?”
“There was no time,” Karpo replied evenly. “I wasn’t sure until a short while ago.” He did not add that he was not certain even now.
The major’s hands drummed against the leather of his holster as he appraised Karpo. Evidently he was properly impressed.