The silence went on for about five seconds during which Rostnikov looked at his wife and nodded.
“The German,” Drozhkin said finally.
“The German,” Rostnikov echoed.
“You will have to explain,” Drozhkin’s voice was somber.
“I plan to do so, Comrade Colonel. If I may, I would like to discuss it with you this morning.”
“Come to my office,” said the colonel. “As soon as you can get here.”
“No. I will meet you in the little parkway in front of the Polytechnical Museum,” Rostnikov said, “right near the entrance to the Dzerzhinski metro station.”
“Comrade,” Drozhkin said ominously.
“I’ll explain, Colonel.”
“We shall see,” said Drozhkin. “Twenty minutes.”
Rostnikov hung up.
“He will come,” Rostnikov said softly.
When Rostnikov limped up the stairway of the metro twenty minutes later, Colonel Drozhkin was standing at the corner squinting into the morning sun and looking at Lubyanka across the Dzerzhinski Square. The man, Rostnikov could see, looked older, smaller, more gnarled, and tougher outside his own environment. The colonel was wearing a slightly rumpled dark brown suit. He looked at his watch to indicate that Rostnikov was wasting his valuable time.
“I hope there is a point to this secrecy, Rostnikov,” he said in greeting.
“There is a point, Comrade,” Rostnikov answered, assuring himself that no one was close enough to overhear him. “Shall we walk?”
“No,” said Drozhkin irritably, “we shall not walk. We shall stand here and talk briefly. What is it that you could not say in my office?”
“Your office is wired, is it not?” said Rostnikov.
“Does that require an answer?”
“No,” Rostnikov replied, “but I thought you might prefer that what we will say be kept between us.”
Drozhkin’s eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips.
“Weigh carefully whatever it is you are about to say, policeman,” he said softly.
“I shall,” Rostnikov responded with a smile. They stepped out of the flow of traffic and walked toward the grass.
“And be brief,” warned Drozhkin.
“As you wish,” agreed Rostnikov. “In the past six months, I have been involved in two investigations that have brought me in contact with the KGB and with you. In both cases, I have come across information that might be a source of some embarrassment to the parties involved.”
Drozhkin stopped walking and glared at Rostnikov.
“Are you going-”
“I am in a dangerous position,” continued Rostnikov looking past the colonel. “I know more than I should about the supposed murder of a dissident by a madman who was manipulated by the KGB.”
“You are a fool, Rostnikov,” Drozhkin whispered.
Rostnikov shrugged. “Perhaps, but it was something we both knew,” he said, “just as we both know that the two explosions and a number of very public deaths in the past three days have been as much the responsibility of your apparatus as they have been of me and my men. In short, you have been hiding behind me, Colonel, because you wanted a scapegoat in case that woman and World Liberation were not stopped.”
Drozhkin’s face was quite red, but Rostnikov did not look at him.
“What have you done?” said the colonel, grabbing Rostnikov’s jacket. It occurred to Rostnikov that he could lift this man up and throw him into Kirov Street with very little effort.
“Just what you fear,” he said. “I made copies of all the papers and interviews and investigation reports on both cases and copies of the tapes of all conversations I have had with you in the last week. Those documents have gone out of the country and now rest safely in West Germany.”
“You are a traitor,” hissed Drozhkin.
“No,” said Rostnikov rubbing his neck. “That material would be an embarrassment to our country. It would not constitute proof of anything. What it would do, Colonel, is raise a series of very small questions, a few news stories that would result in waves that would wash you out of power. You have survived a great deal, Colonel, but I don’t think you would survive this.”
Rostnikov looked down at the colonel and imagined the thoughts that were racing through his mind.
“No,” said Rostnikov. “Bintz has already put the material where even he cannot get it. In the event of his death, it will be released. If I do not contact him periodically, he will order its release. Even if he is tortured, he cannot retrieve the material. We worked it out. I’m afraid, Colonel, if anything happens to me or to Bintz, you will be in quite a bit of trouble.”
“All this to ensure your safety, Rostnikov,” Drozhkin said.
“No, Colonel, I want more than my safety. I realized when this investigation began that I was a dangerous man in your eyes, that you would have me watched, and that my future was precarious at best. I also know that, given enough time, you will find a way to get around my plan.”
“So…?” prodded Drozhkin.
“I wish to emigrate,” said Rostnikov, looking around the square. “My wife, my son, and I want to go to America.”
“That is impossible,” said Drozhkin. “I can’t-”
“You can. I’m sure you can,” Rostnikov insisted. “This is not a decision I wished to make, but I can see no other way for me or for you.”
“And if I choose to sacrifice myself instead?” Drozhkin said. They had walked down Serov Passage circling the Polytechnical Museum and, to a passerby, they would have looked like two old friends on a morning stroll.
“It would be a waste,” said Rostnikov, “and would accomplish nothing but the end of your career and probably my life.”
“It might be worth it,” said the smaller man.
“I have gambled that you will not find it so,” said Rostnikov.
“What will prevent you from releasing this material after you leave the Soviet Union?” asked Drozhkin.
Rostnikov carefully hid his relief. The colonel’s question told him that he might well have won the battle. “What would my reason be?” Rostnikov said. “To punish you? To embarrass my country?”
“No,” said Drozhkin. “Your word is not enough. I risk a great deal if I agree to this scheme, perhaps even…No, your word is not enough.”
“There’s nothing else I can give you,” Rostnikov said, stopping to touch the colonel’s arm. Drozhkin moved away from the familiarity.
“Your son,” Drozhkin said, and Rostnikov could see that a smile was forming in the corners of his wrinkled mouth.
“My-”
“Your son will remain in the Soviet Union where I can watch him,” the colonel explained.
“A stalemate,” sighed Rostnikov, biting his lower lip.
“A stale-” Drozhkin began and looked at the chief inspector. “You knew I would propose this, didn’t you? You expected this?”
Rostnikov did not reply.
“We should have recruited you into the KGB long ago,” he said.
“I appreciate the compliment,” said Rostnikov. “Do I take it that you agree to my proposal?”
“You are not concerned for your son?”
“I’m concerned,” said Rostnikov, “but he has committed no crime, and he is unaware of all this. He is an innocent Soviet citizen in your care, and I’m sure you will take care of him. Once my wife and I leave, his safety will be your responsibility.”
Rostnikov had not anticipated Drozhkin’s reaction. The small man stopped and began laughing. He laughed, a hacking little laugh, until he choked and Rostnikov feared that he might actually die on the street and ruin the well-laid plan.
“You are threatening me?” Drozhkin finally spat out. “You’re going to come back from some capitalistic country in the dead of night as a tourist and beat me to death or release your tapes and papers?”
A young woman passing by wearing a white T-shirt with “Dallas Cowboys” stenciled on it gave the colonel a curious look and walked on.
“It can be done,” said Rostnikov.
“There is nothing more to say,” Drozhkin said. “Go back to your job, your home, and worry.”