He poured tea from the samovar in the supply room and took it to his desk. He spread out the contents of his briefcase, the copies of documents and photographs and the notes he had written and began to consider what it could all mean, in the context of that secret Russian report. He was still inclined to go with his theory about the theft and sale of weapons from Anatoli's inventory. It would indicate the former KGB men had been raising money for some illicit purpose immediately after the coup attempt. Had they intended to support a new effort at wresting control from the leaders of the dying Soviet state? That would certainly add weight to General Borovsky's current fear of a plot to undermine the CIS.
Restlessly, Shumakov got up and walked over to the narrow office window and gazed down at the street below. The traffic lanes were filled with cars and trolleys and trucks and buses. Crowds of busy people lined the sidewalk. Like the scene he watched, the pace of change was quickening. He was convinced that Belarus had a bright future, so long as her people didn't lose their progressive bearings. He was also convinced that a sinister threat lurked in the background. Some group was pursuing a different agenda, one he did not yet fully comprehend. Romashchuk was undoubtedly a part of it, possibly this General Malmudov as well. But he needed something solid that he could take to General Borovsky and the Chairman.
Hoping for a lead that might put a new spin on the case, Yuri called Oleg Kovalenko in Kiev. The chief investigator was in court, but Yuri was assured that his call would be returned that afternoon.
Then he phoned Detective Omar Khan. The gregarious Uzbek was usually a storehouse of insider gossip from both the militia and the prosecutor's office.
"Chief Investigator Shumakov, good to hear from you," said the detective. "I was surprised to learn you were off on some special case with the KGB."
"I'm just checking up on our old rivals, Khan. Perchik can't do without me, though. He called a couple of days ago about that murder case I helped you with."
"Why was he interested in that?"
"Repin wanted to talk to me about it."
"Repin? I thought I'd given that bastard more than enough." The irritation was obvious in Khan's voice.
"That's what I thought, too. Perchik reminded me that I was the one who had done the interrogation. He said Repin needed to talk to me because he likes to get every bit of evidence available."
Khan grunted. "He wants you to be excessively thorough so he won't have to raise a finger. If he could get away with it, he'd have you present his cases in court."
"Be reasonable, Khan. I don't think he would go quite that far."
"Reasonableness has nothing to do with it when you talk about Repin. A friend told me the creep is spreading a rumor that you are on Perchik's purge list."
"Purge list?"
"Supposedly the prosecutor is waiting for you to finish this KGB case, then he plans to send you packing."
After Perchik's performance two days ago, that didn't sound too far-fetched.
"Here's something else I picked up you might find interesting," Detective Khan added. "My neighbor is an army major. Last night he attended a big gathering of uniformed officers in the army and air force at Chelyuskintsev Park. General Nikolsky told them that the CIS meeting here next month would herald the military's return to glory, as he put it."
"Isn't he second in command of the armed forces? What did he mean by that?"
"Major Yasnev said it sounded like Nikolsky thinks something similar to the old Red Army will be reconstituted. He told them to get their troops prepared to do whatever they're ordered."
"That sounds ominous."
"I don't believe Yasnev expects to be ordered to do anything drastic. He just thought the army would revert to the good old days."
Yuri's voice was filled with loathing. "If existence under the Soviet Union was the good old days, I, for one, can very happily do without them."
When the caller to Brest militia headquarters said he had information regarding the murder of Vadim Trishin, he was referred to Detective Bobrov. A short, stocky man with bushy Brezhnev eyebrows, Bobrov wore a permanent look of cultivated indifference. After many years of viewing corpses done in by every method imaginable, he was virtually immune to shock. But he hadn't seen a body butchered as badly as Trishin's in quite awhile. The medical examiner had counted thirty-three stab wounds. Someone had taken out a powerful grudge on this young man.
"Bobrov!" he barked into the phone.
"Are you handling the Trishin murder?" a deep male voice inquired.
"I am. Who are you?"
"I'd rather not get involved in it personally, but I thought you'd like to know what he told me a few days ago."
"Just give me your name. I'll keep it confidential."
The voice ignored him. "He said a man from Minsk had been harassing him. His name was Shumakov… Yuri, I believe. Trishin had served under his brother in the army. Apparently the brother had been killed in an accident, and he blamed Trishin for it. This Shumakov was going to Kiev, he said, to look up something about the accident at the Defense Ministry. Trishin was afraid it might really set him off."
Bobrov glanced up from the notes he had been furiously scribbling. "Look, why don't we meet somewhere and you can—"
"That's all I know. I hope it helps."
The line went dead. Bobrov's look of indifference turned to one of disgust. Damn these people who would only speak in anonymity. They might make valuable witnesses later, but there was no way to track them down. He read the notes on his pad. At least he now had a name and a motive. The homicide team could return to question the neighbors and check Trishin's belongings for information on his army service. Someone would probably get a nice junket to Kiev.
It was late afternoon when Oleg Kovalenko called. "How was your day in court?" Yuri inquired.
"Strange, my friend. Four 'not guilty' verdicts. Remember back when if you went to court it was automatic that you were guilty? Times have changed."
Yuri recalled Khan's comment about the "good old days." It was all a matter of perspective. "Well, tell me if anything has changed in the Romashchuk situation?"
"I was going to call you about that," said Kovalenko. "We finally determined that the Major's escape resulted from inside help."
"I knew you'd turn up something. What happened?"
The jailer who released Romashchuk was a fastidious dresser, Kovalenko explained. Nobody else would have paid any attention to it, but two days ago, the jailer noticed a tear on the left uniform sleeve of a militia captain. He recalled having seen the identical blemish on the uniform of the man who had arranged for Nikolai Romashchuk's release. He reported it to one of his superiors. When they called the captain in, he claimed his uniform had been misplaced while at the dry cleaners. A check with the dry cleaner showed this to be a lie.
"He finally confessed he had loaned his uniform to an acquaintance," said Kovalenko. "Guess who formerly employed the acquaintance?"
"I give up."
"KGB."
"Now we're getting somewhere. You said loaned?"
"Rented might be more accurate. He was paid a nice little sum."
"What did you get out of the ex-KGB man?"
"We haven't been able to put our hands on him yet. He now drives a big trailer rig and left early yesterday on a run to Gdansk, Poland."
"When is he due back?"
"Tomorrow or the next day," said Kovalenko. "We'll be waiting for him."
A man in a job with easy access to the heart of Europe, Yuri thought. Could he be one of the couriers the Russian report had mentioned? "I'd like to sit in on his interrogation. Would that be possible?"