“That’s right. But he said the Communists had gotten to you. The incorruptible Emerald Eye had finally been corrupted!”
Now, as Pekkala recalled the words of his last conversation with Kropotkin, it all began to turn around inside his brain. He had utterly misunderstood. “How did you find Kropotkin?”
“I didn’t,” replied Maximov. “He found me. Kropotkin was the one who figured out that the White Guild was just a front for luring Stalin’s enemies to their deaths. He decided to turn the White Guild against the Communists.”
“And it was you who killed those agents, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and he ordered me to kill you as well. I would have, if Bruno hadn’t gotten in the way.”
“That was you, outside the Cafe Tilsit. But why?”
“Kropotkin had decided to give you one more chance to join us. Every day he waited at that cafe, knowing you’d show up eventually. When you turned him down, he made a call to me. I drove to the cafe on a motorcycle. When I saw you lying on the ground, I thought I’d killed you. It was only later that I found out you were still alive. From the apartments of the agents we killed, we managed to steal enough weapons and ammunition to keep us supplied for months. We even got our hands on a brand-new German motorcycle which one of the agents had parked in the middle of his living room! That’s the one I was riding when I took a shot at you. Then Kropotkin came up with the idea of stealing a T-34. By the time you people figured out what happened, it would already be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To stop the war we are about to declare.”
Pekkala was wondering whether Maximov had gone completely insane. “You might have been able to murder some government agents, but do you really think the White Guild can overthrow this country?”
“No,” replied Maximov, “but Germany can. They are looking for any excuse to invade us. All we have to do is offer them a reason. And what better reason than an attack across the Polish border by the Soviet Union’s newest, most devastating weapon? If we strike Poland, the Germans will see it as an act of aggression against the West. That is all the reason they need.”
“How much damage do you think could be done by a single tank?”
“Kropotkin has chosen a place where the Poles have nothing but cavalry units on their border with us. One tank could wipe out an entire brigade.”
“But don’t you realize what the Nazis will do to this country if they invade? We are not prepared to defend ourselves.”
“Kropotkin says that the quicker we are defeated, the less bloodshed there will be.”
“That’s a lie, Maximov! You may have taken an oath to the Tsar, but do you honestly think this is what he would have wanted? You will have unleashed a thing you can’t control. The Germans won’t just overthrow the Communists. They will turn this place into a wasteland.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“But Kropotkin does! You might think that you’re both fighting for the same cause, but I have known Kropotkin for a long time and I have seen his kind before. His only cause is vengeance for a world that no longer exists. All he wants to do is see this country burn.”
“Then let it burn,” replied Maximov. “I am not afraid.”
Hearing this, Pekkala was consumed by rage. He lunged at Maximov, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and heaving him across the room.
Maximov crashed against the far wall of the mess hut and slumped down with a groan.
“Have you stopped to think that you are not the only one who will go down in flames?” Pekkala shouted. “Kropotkin doesn’t care who lives or dies! That’s the difference between you and him. There are people you care about who will suffer even more than you. Yelena, for example. And Konstantin. He is already under arrest.”
“Listen, Pekkala,” growled Maximov, massaging the back of his head. “He had nothing to do with the Guild. You had no right to arrest him for a thing he did not even know about.”
“I arrested him,” said Pekkala, “because he murdered his father.”
Maximov froze. His face turned suddenly pale. “What?”
“Who do you think killed Colonel Nagorski?”
“I don’t know! It wasn’t us. That’s all I knew for sure. It might have been any number of people. Almost every one who met Nagorski ended up hating the bastard. But it couldn’t have been Konstantin!”
“How did you expect him to react after you wrote him that letter?”
“What letter? What the devil are you talking about?”
“The one you sent him on his birthday, telling him his parents were about to split up.”
“Have you lost your mind? I never wrote him any letter and even if I did, I wouldn’t have told him such a thing. That poor boy was already close to the breaking point. Why would I want to make things any worse for him, especially on his birthday?”
“Then how do you explain this?” Pekkala walked across to where Maximov was still slumped against the wall and held up the page in front of him.
Maximov squinted at the letter. “That’s not my writing.”
“Then whose is it? And why would they sign your name to it?”
“I—” Maximov’s face was a mask of confusion. “I don’t know.”
“Who else knew about the breakup besides you and the Nagorskis?”
“What could be gained …?” asked Maximov. Then suddenly he shuddered. “Let me see the letter again!”
Pekkala handed it to him.
Maximov stared at it. “Oh, no,” he whispered. Slowly, he raised his head. “This is Kropotkin’s writing.”
“What did you tell him about the Nagorskis?”
“Only that I didn’t want them involved. I knew that Nagorski and his wife were splitting up. They had been trying to keep it a secret. Konstantin was already on edge. I knew that once he realized what was going on between his parents, it would destroy his whole world.”
“Did Kropotkin know about the affair with Lev Zalka?”
“No,” replied Maximov. “Only that Nagorski was divorcing his wife.”
“After what you told him, Kropotkin must have guessed that the boy might try something like this. That way, he could not only steal the T-34 but also get rid of the man who invented it.”
“But how did Konstantin get hold of a gun?”
“Nagorski’s PPK was found in his possession. He fired it at me earlier this evening. The thing is, Maximov—the person he was trying to shoot was you.”
“Me? But why would he do that? He knows I would never do anything to harm him or his mother.”
“I believe that you care for them, Maximov, and if you hadn’t shown up drunk, you might have been a little more convincing. Instead, all you managed to do was terrify them.”
“What will they do to him now?” Maximov asked, dazed by what he had heard.
“Konstantin is guilty of murder. You know what they will do to him.”
“Kropotkin swore to me he’d keep them out of it …” whispered Maximov.
“Then help me stop him,” said Pekkala. “Kropotkin has betrayed you, and whatever you think of me, that’s not a thing I ever did.”
Maximov shuddered again. Then, finally, he spoke. “If I help you, you will see to it that Konstantin does not get sent to jail. Or worse.”
“I’ll do what I can for the boy, but you are guilty of murder and treason, not to mention trying to blow my head off—”
“I need no help from you, Pekkala. Just do what you can for Konstantin.”
“I promise,” said Pekkala.
Maximov seemed about to speak, but then he paused, as if he could not bring himself to give up Kropotkin, no matter what the man had done to him.
“Maximov,” Pekkala said gently. Hearing his name spoken seemed to snap him out of it.
“Kropotkin is heading for some place called Rusalka on the Polish border. It’s in the middle of a forest. I could show you on a map. How do you plan on stopping him?”