‘Then what do they want?’
Yakushkin shrugged. ‘I’m damned if I know. I don’t think they know either. And they just killed Colonel Andrich, the only man who might have had a clue.’
‘You really think the partisans killed him?’
‘Certainly. Who else?’
‘But what about the partisan leaders who died with him?’
‘They were leaders, yes, but each of his own tiny kingdom. Every partisan band has its own allegiance, and its own ideas about the future of their country. The only dream they have in common is to live in some fantasy of a world that never existed and never will. Hiding out in the woods for all those years has given them an illusion that such fantasies are possible. Whoever murdered the colonel and the others must have been convinced that this future did not include cooperating with the Soviets. The colonel was their best, perhaps their only hope. If Andrich had lived another month, he might have been able to win over enough of the Atrads that all the others would have followed. Instead, he was butchered by the very people he was trying to help. And now,’ Yakushkin clenched his fists and held them out, ‘the partisans and the Red Army are like two trains, racing towards each other on the same track. And I tell you, Antonina,’ He drew his fists together, cogging the knuckle bones, ‘those trains are about to collide.’
Just then, Yakushkin heard a noise somewhere behind him. It was a faint scuffling sound, but unmistakable. Turning suddenly, his hand reached out for the gun. But there was only the wall and a chest of drawers. He blinked in confusion. ‘Is someone else here?’ he asked.
‘Somebody else? Besides your bodyguard, you mean?’
Yakushkin pointed at the chest of drawers. ‘What is behind that wall?’
‘The next door neighbour’s apartment, but I think it’s empty now. Why?’
Yakushkin shook his head. ‘I thought I heard someone.’
‘This old house is full of noises,’ she told him. ‘It’s probably just the storm outside.’
More likely a rat, Yakushkin thought to himself.
At that moment, the door opened downstairs as Molodin stepped in out of the rain, closing the door behind him.
Yakushkin didn’t mind Molodin coming into the house without permission, but he felt a twinge of embarrassment that his bodyguard would now be able to overhear the silly things he was forced to say to Antonina. ‘Don’t worry, Molodin!’ he called out. ‘I promise to save you some food.’
‘Here it is!’ said Antonina, as she came around the corner with the glazed earthenware pot containing the stew.
Yakushkin clapped his hands together. ‘At last!’ Just then, he heard the stairs creak as Molodin began making his way up to the apartment. ‘Not yet, Molodin!’ he called out. ‘I have not even begun the meal!’
Antonina placed the pot before Yakushkin, handed him a serving ladle, then took her seat at the opposite side of the table.
Yakushkin rose to his feet, like a man about to give a speech. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, as he gazed into the stew, breathing the fragrant steam which dampened his red face. ‘Truly a wonder of the world!’ In that moment, Yakushkin’s heart softened and he felt ashamed. What a fool I’d be, he thought, if I let this woman go. Of course I will take her to Moscow and we will be that happy family she spoke about.
Lifting his eyes, Yakushkin cast an adoring glance at Antonina, but was surprised to see she wasn’t looking back at him. Instead, she was staring at the doorway with a startled expression on her face.
He turned to follow her gaze.
In the doorway stood a captain of the Red Army, his tunic darkened by the freezing rain which had soaked him to the bone. His hands were tucked behind his back, as if standing at ease on a parade ground. Water dripped from his elbows on to the scuffed floorboards.
‘Who are you?’ Yakushkin demanded angrily. ‘Has something happened at the garrison? Speak up, Captain! State your business and be gone.’
But the man said nothing, and he made no move to leave. Instead, he turned and stared at Antonina.
They know each other, thought Yakushkin. And suddenly he felt the burn of jealousy for a woman he had never wanted until now. He rounded upon Antonina. ‘Who is this man to you?’ he asked.
‘I’ve never seen him before!’ replied Antonina, her voice quavering as she spoke. ‘I swear.’
Yakushkin didn’t believe her. ‘I trusted you,’ he snapped, ‘but I promise that is over now!’
‘Yes,’ said the officer. ‘It’s over now.’ From behind his back he drew a gun.
A wave of helpless dread passed through Yakushkin’s mind. He glanced down at his Tokarev, which lay beside the empty dinner plate. The captain had already drawn his gun. Yakushkin knew it was too late to save himself. He looked across at Antonina. ‘I could have loved you,’ he said, and then he snatched up the pistol and shot her in the chest.
At that same instant, a bullet crashed through the back of Yakushkin’s skull. He fell forward on to the table, which collapsed beneath his weight. The contents of the earthenware pot spilled across the floor and cutlery crashed to the ground.
Antonina was still alive, but barely. The force of the bullet had knocked her out of her chair. Now she lay on her back, her legs askew like those of a dropped marionette. She tried to speak, but her words were lost in the blood which spilled from the corners of her mouth.
The man stepped carefully across the room, avoiding the steaming pieces of sliced apple, boiled sausage and shattered crockery. Curiously, he looked at the woman. From the look on his face, it would have been clear to Yakushkin that these two had never met before. He bent down and gently put his hand upon her forehead. ‘Where is the major you treated at the hospital?’ he asked quietly. ‘The one named Kirov. Where is he now?’
‘Still there,’ she whispered.
‘No,’ the man told her. ‘He’s gone. Where did he go?’
She stared at him blankly.
‘You don’t know, do you?’ asked the man.
Her lips moved feebly, but she made no sound.
Slowly he moved his hand down from her forehead, until he was covering her eyes. Then he set the pistol against her left temple and pulled the trigger. The gun bucked and, in the flash of burning powder, some of her hair caught fire. He brushed it away from her face. Reeking metallically, the burned strands crumbled into ash.
The man stood and made his way back down the stairs. Before he vanished out into the storm, he paused to glance at Molodin, who lay in the hallway, tongue protruding from between his purple lips, and eyes bulging grotesquely from the garrotting wire sunk into his neck.
Memo from Joseph Davies, US Ambassador to Moscow, Yacht ‘Sea Cloud’, Stavanger, Norway to Counsellor Richard Sparks, Acting Supervisor of US Embassy, Moscow. December 21st, 1937
I order you to terminate the employment of Samuel Hayes, secretary at the Embassy, effective immediately. His gross negligence with regard to a recent inquiry into the arrest of a Soviet citizen has caused grave and unnecessary friction between this office and the office of the Kremlin, notwithstanding the considerable efforts made by me personally into resolving the case. Had I been aware of the facts, now provided to me by the Soviets, I would never have taken such steps. Mr Hayes’ obligation to pursue the facts before risking an international incident was entirely neglected. His conduct, which is entirely out of keeping with the highest standards of the US Diplomatic Corps, merits nothing less than his dismissal and return to the United States on the next available transport.
Signed — Joseph Davies, Ambassador
PS See to it that the cases of champagne ordered for the upcoming reception of Soviet dignitaries are kept at a suitable temperature until ready for use.