Erast Fandorin lowered his eyes meekly.
“It is not the Socialist International,” Mizinov continued, “because the gentlemen communists don’t have the stomach for this kind of business. And Brilling couldn’t possibly have been a revolutionary. It’s out of the question. Whatever he might have got up to in secret, my dear deputy hunted down nihilists with a will, and very successfully. What then does Azazel want? That, after all, is the most important thing! And we have not a single thing to go on. Cunningham is dead. Brilling is dead. Nikolai Krug is a mere functionary, a pawn. That scoundrel Pyzhov is dead. All the leads have been lopped off…” General Mizinov spread his arms in a gesture of indignation. “No, I don’t understand a single thing! I knew Brilling for more than ten years. I was the one who made his career! I discovered him myself. Judge for yourself, Fandorin. When I was governor-general of Kharkov I used to hold all kinds of competitions for students in order to encourage patriotic feelings and the desire for useful reform in the younger generation. I was introduced to a skinny, awkward youth, a final-year gymnasium pupil who had written a very sensible and passionate composition on the subject ‘The Future of Russia.’ Believe me, he had the spirit and the background of a genuine Lomonosov—an orphan with no family or relatives, who had financed his own studies on coppers and then passed the examinations for the seventh year at the grammar school at the first attempt. A genuine natural diamond! I became his patron, sent him to St. Petersburg University, then I gave him a place in my department—and never had cause to regret it. He was my finest assistant, my trusted deputy! He had made a brilliant career—all roads were open to him! Such a brilliant, paradoxical mind, so resourceful, so assiduous! My God, I was even planning to marry my daughter to him!” said the general, clutching his forehead.
Out of respect for the feelings of his high-ranking superior, Erast Fandorin paused tactfully before clearing his throat. “Your Excellency, I was just thinking…Of course, we don’t have many leads, but still we do have something.”
The general shook his head as if he were dispelling unwelcome memories and sat down at the desk. “I’m listening. Tell me what’s on your mind, Fandorin. No one knows this whole business better than you.”
“Well, what I actually wanted to say was…” Erast Fandorin looked at the list, underlining something with a pencil. “There are forty-four men here. Two we were unable to figure out, and the full state counselor—that is, Ivan Brilling—is no longer in the reckoning. At least eight of them can be identified without too much difficulty. Well, just think about it, Your Excellency. How many heads of the emperor of Brazil’s bodyguard can there be? Or number forty-seven F, the head of a government department in Belgium, sent on the eleventh of June, received on the fifteenth. It will be easy enough to determine who he is. That’s two already. The third is number five forty-nine F, a rear admiral in the French fleet, sent on the fifteenth of June, received on the seventeenth. The fourth is number one oh oh seven F, a newly created English baronet, sent on the ninth of June, received on the tenth. The fifth is number six ninety-four F, a Portuguese government minister, sent on the twenty-ninth of May, received on the seventh of June.”
“That one’s a dud,” said the general, who had been listening with great interest. “The Portuguese government changed in May, so all the ministers in the cabinet are new.”
“Are they?” Erast Fandorin asked in dismay. “Oh, well, that means we’ll have seven instead of eight. Then the fifth is an American, the deputy chairman of a Senate committee, sent on the tenth of June, received on the twenty-eighth, in my own presence. The sixth is number ten forty-two F, Turkey, personal secretary to Prince Abdьlhamid, sent on the first of June, received on the twentieth.”
General Mizinov found this information particularly interesting. “Really? Oh, that is very important. And actually on the first of June? Well, well. On the thirtieth of May in Turkey there was a coup, Sultan Abdьlaziz was overthrown, and the new ruler, Midhat Pasha, set Murad V on the throne. And then the very next day he appointed a new secretary for Abdьlhamid, Murad’s younger brother. What great haste, to be sure. This is extremely important news. Could Midhat Pasha be planning to get rid of Murad and set Abdьlhamid on the throne? Aha…Never mind, Fandorin, that’s all way over your head. We ‘ll have the secretary identified in a couple of shakes. I’ll get on the telegraph today to Nikolai Pavlovich Gnatiev, our ambassador in Constantinople—we’re old friends. Carry on.”
“And the last, the seventh: number fifteen oh eight F, Switzerland, a prefect of cantonal police, sent on the twenty-fifth of May, received on the first of June. Identifying the rest will be a lot harder, and some of them will be impossible. But if we can at least identify these seven and put them under secret surveillance…”
“Give me the list,” said the general, holding out his hand. “I’ll give orders immediately for coded messages to be sent to the embassies concerned. We shall clearly have to collaborate with the special services of these countries. Apart from Turkey, where we have an excellent network of our own…You know, Mr. Fandorin, I was abrupt with you, but don’t take offense. I do value your contribution very highly and so on and so forth…It’s just that it was painful for me…because of Brilling…Well, you understand.”
“I understand, Your Excellency. I myself, in a sense, was no less—”
“Very well, excellent. You’ll be working with me, investigate Azazel. I’ll set up a special group and appoint the most experienced people. We must untangle this whole sorry mess.”
“Your Excellency, I really ought to take a trip to Moscow…”
“What for?”
“I’d like to have a little talk with Lady Astair. She herself, being more a creature of the heavens than the earth”—at this point Fandorin smiled—“was surely not aware of the true nature of Cunningham’s activity, but she did know the gentleman since he was a child and might well be able to tell us something useful. It would be best not to talk to her formally, through the gendarmerie, surely? I am fortunate enough to be slightly acquainted with her ladyship, and I speak English. What if another lead of some kind were to come to light? Perhaps we might pick up something from Cunningham’s past?”
“It sounds to the point. Go. But only for one day, no more. And now go and get some sleep. My adjutant will assign you your quarters. Tomorrow you’ll take the evening train to Moscow. If we’re lucky, by that time the first coded messages from the embassies will have arrived. On the morning of the twenty-eighth you’ll be in Moscow, and in the evening I want you back here, and come immediately to me to report. At any time, is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
IN THE CORRIDOR of the first-class carriage on the St. Petersburg-Moscow express, a very grand elderly gentleman sporting an enviable mustache and whiskers and a diamond pin in his necktie smoked a cigar as he glanced with undisguised curiosity at the locked door of compartment number one.
“Hey there, be so kind,” he said, beckoning with a fat finger to a conductor who had made an opportune appearance.
The conductor dashed over to the stately passenger in a flash and bowed. “What can I do for you, sir?”
The gentleman took hold of the conductor’s collar between his finger and thumb and asked in a deep bass whisper, “The young man traveling in the first compartment—who is he exactly? Do you know? He is quite remarkably young.”
“I was surprised at that too,” the conductor declared in a whisper. “Everyone knows the first compartment is reserved for VIPs. They won’t let just any old general in—only someone on urgent and responsible state business.”