‘Well, I know nothing of this, General.’ She had glanced at her papers again.
‘But perhaps we can go into it a little … He had a vehicle here. Or expected one to be waiting for him here. He knew he, would be back in three days, and that his mission was over. I think that’s all it was, incidentally — a look at the place, at the security arrangements. A trial run. And now he had to leave. Obviously he had made plans. But now they needed altering — the militia wanted to see him. Which meant he had to leave very rapidly. And he did. In a vehicle.’
The second point was coming up and again she felt her pulse begin to pound. She looked at her watch.
‘General, I don’t think I can help you with this.’
‘Perhaps you can.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let me explain it to you. When he left you, we know he can’t have gone far in the street. The militia have questioned people who were in it and nobody saw him. A familiar figure, quite distinctive, recognisable to everybody — but nobody saw him. I think because the vehicle he wanted was right there, close by the medical centre. When you came into town — try to think about this — did he seem to be looking for something?’
‘Well.’ She thought. ‘He was certainly looking for the turning — the turning into our loading bay at the rear. He missed it once. We had to go all round the square again.’
‘Did you, now? Cars parked there, I suppose. Did he look at the cars?’
‘He was looking for the turning.’
‘Yes. Did any of the cars flash their lights?’
‘Not that I remember.’
The general remained looking at her for some moments.
‘All right, so you go into the yard. And here he behaves strangely. We know he must be in a great hurry. Yet he doesn’t act in a hurry. He carefully helps them unload the van. He takes in the last of the stuff. Tells them it’s the last. He comes out, asks if you want anything more doing. Doesn’t that seem strange?’
‘Well, I agree — it does.’
‘As if he’s getting everybody off the premises?’
‘Perhaps. Yes.’
‘Had anything come in behind you, another vehicle?’
‘Not that I recall.’
‘Some activity going on in the yard — someone fiddling with an engine, cars manoeuvring about?’
‘No, no. Nothing like that. There was nothing there. Just his own bobik — and the rubbish truck.’
‘Which rubbish truck?’
‘The regular one, for our waste disposal.’
‘Where does the rubbish truck go?’
‘Well, I don’t know where —’
‘Is it there every day?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. And now, really, General —’
She had risen, and he rose with her.
‘Well, you have been very patient,’ he said, shrugging into his greatcoat. ‘And also very helpful. You have given much useful information.’
And so she had, and she sat shaking, listening to his boots march briskly down the corridor. She had offered the wrong end of the stick, and he had gladly accepted it. But where would it lead?
The wrong end of the stick; but a stick. And this general, a persistent man, was not going to let it go. Where it would lead, at the end, was to the right conclusion; but that was not yet.
The town rubbish dump, just outside Green Cape, stank so evilly that the general shielded his nose. He observed that the garbage was in a three-sided compound, conveniently open to the highway of the river.
Lights were strung and he saw that the enclosed sides were occupied by sheds and cabins. Two great garbage heaps were in the middle, a tipper-truck distributing its load on one, and several natives picking through the other.
‘These fellows live here?’ he asked the chief of militia.
‘Yes. In the cabins, with their families. Yakuts.’
‘Call one over.’
The chief did so, and introduced the dignitary.
The man grinned at him affably.
‘All well here?’ the general asked, himself very affable.
‘Yes. All well.’
‘A good life?’
‘Sure. Good life. Anything I do for you, General?’
‘Just looking around. Kolya thought it interesting. You know — Kolya, Kolya Khodyan. Nice fellow. Remember him?’
‘Khodyan? No. Don’t know this name.’
‘Show him the photo,’ he said to his young aide, Volodya.
The man looked at the photo.
‘Nice photo of him,’ the general said.
‘Yes, nice.’
‘Been here lately?’
‘Who been here?’
‘This man.’
‘No. Don’t know this man.’
And the same with the others, and with their families, the general observing that the ladies first of all consulted their husbands before disclaiming knowledge of the nice man.
The sheds, however, produced better results.
They were large sheds, used for the storage of selected pickings; and the pickings of one of them were motor parts. Doors, seats, exhausts, wheels, tyres: all these not heaped on the ground but stacked quite neatly around the walls. On the ground, in the vacant centre, was an oil stain, and the marks left by four wheels.
Half an hour later, the general had still not managed to discover how these marks came to be there; but he left not at all displeased.
On the way back the chief of militia explained some local regulations to him, and he had the first glimmerings of how the trick had been pulled.
Over a late dinner the general sat with his staff and explained the situation. His senior officers had been flying about all day and were tired. But his explanation was brief.
Vehicles out of use in the Kolymsky region had to have their registration plates and documents returned; and those past repair needed a Certificate of Destruction: vehicles must not be abandoned or left to lie about. This regulation, dating from 1962, was intended to control all means of movement in the area, and in early years had been strictly enforced.
With the area’s rapid development, however, some laxness had crept in; although full records still existed. The militia had identified twenty-seven vehicles long out of use — their plates and papers returned, but without Certificates of Destruction. These were now being investigated.
‘What is likely,’ the general said, ‘is that this man found something he could put together. And then he found a place to put it together. Perhaps the rubbish dump, perhaps not. They’ve certainly had a vehicle standing there recently. Well, natives stick together, we can look into it later. What’s important now is to find a disused vehicle which has gone missing. Get a profile of it and we could be halfway to finding him.’
And so they could be, he thought, settling into bed. It had been a long day and he was very tired himself. Late in the evening Irkutsk had got him permission and he had helicoptered to Tcherny Vodi. A hundred per cent security there, all as the medical officer had said An excellent woman, nobody’s fool. The agent could have seen nothing — a trial run, as he’d thought. Well, he wouldn’t get far. Profile of his vehicle …
Another thought occurred, and he reached for the phone.
‘Volodya?’
His aide yawned loudly at the other end.
‘Volodya — another thing. It’s possible there’ll be more than one vehicle missing … This fellow could get at parts. The same parts don’t fit all vehicles. If we know what parts he used that also gives a profile of the vehicle. Get them moving at that transport company. Do it now. Get them out of bed. Let them search repair sheds, storerooms, whatever. Anything interesting, call me immediately. If necessary, wake me up.’