'Well?' said Adam, turning to Frankie.
'Just sit and wait.'
'What's the Number One?' asked a nervous Billie.
'Old cemetery. St Louis Number One. Big place on Basin Street, at the end of the park. Takes up most of the block. You see the movie 'Easy Rider'? Well, Number One was in that. Big fancy mausoleums, white marble and all that. Full of tombs and vaults.'
'Gruesome,' commentated Billie.
'Well, you ain't gonna find voodoo in a shopping mall, that's for certain,' Frankie grinned. 'You coming tonight?' he asked Billie.
'I'm not going to miss this for anything.'
'Why call him the…?' asked Adam.
'…the Fruit Juice Kid?' interrupted Frankie. ''Cos nobody knows what's in that bottle. Ain't nobody ever drunk from it. Most people think it's tomato juice with lemon juice swirling around inside. But it's easy to think. No sucker's taken the risk yet.'
'How old is he?'
'You tell me. He's been around ever since I can remember. And I been cabbying here for ten years. Don't look no older than the first day I saw him.'
Ch. 37
Rostov watched the old lady across his desk.
She was nervous, it wasn't every day cypher clerks were called up to be interviewed by the Deputy Director of the KGB.
'This fire…' he said. '…has caused us considerable concern. You understand why?'
'Yes, comrade Deputy Director,' she replied softly, her head slightly bowed in acquiescence.
'Not comrade any more,' he replied, equally softly to try and win her trust. 'Deputy Director, or sir, in the western manner, is adequate. May I call you Ivana?'
'Certainly, comr…sir.' She was taken aback with his informality. The young bastard downstairs who ran her department could do with a lesson in manners from this man.
'Good. Would you like my secretary to get you some tea '
'No thank you.' She suddenly hoped he wouldn't be insulted. 'I have already had some before I came up. My tea break,' she explained.
' So tell me how you discovered the fire.'
'I had to get some files for the office. When I went down there I could smell something odd. After a while I realised it was something burning. I tried to see if I could find where it was coming from. There are many many rooms there. And corridors. When I found it, I saw there was smoke coming from under the door. I ran back and reported it.'
'You saw nothing unusual?'
'No, sir.'
'Think back. After all, the fire had only just been started. No sounds, no-one running.'
'No, sir. Nothing at all.'
He nodded, then picked up one of the sheets of paper in front of him. 'You have a good record. You have served the KGB well.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'It is us who should thank you. After such a lifetime of service. Not only here, in Moscow, but also during the last War. You were a heroine of the intelligence service.'
If only the bastard downstairs could hear this now. 'I was only a interpreter, sir.'
'In Berlin.'
'Yes.'
'Marvellous. I was hardly born then. It says here that you saw the bunker.'
'Where Hitler died. Yes.'
'History. And to have been such a part of it. I envy you. But why did you not come home when it was over?'
'It was because of my language, sir. Our troops needed someone who could talk to the Germans.'
'You stayed until 1975. Which part of Germany?'
'Dresden.'
'A beautiful city.'
'It was. Before it was destroyed by the British.'
'Ah! Sad, but war makes some things necessary.'
'Not to kill when there is no need. They bombed and killed many thousands. All civilians. There was no need.'
'You grew to like the Germans?'
'Some of them.'
'You lived there for thirty years.'
'Yes.'
'In the barracks.'
He sensed her caution before she spoke. 'No, sir. Not all the time.'
'In the town?'
'I had a small apartment.'
'You enjoyed your freedom away from your daily duties. I can understand that. It is always good to have your own private place, somewhere of your own.'
'It was only a very small apartment,' she stressed.
'You lived there alone?'
'Yes, sir.'
He knew she'd lied. He'd sat through too many interrogations to know that. He decided to change tack.
'Why did you go down to the records area?'
She sensed his sudden change, the sharpness in his voice. 'I had things to find.'
'What?'
'Information. On what I was researching.'
'According to your superior you asked to go down and find a file for a colleague.'
Superior. That little trumped up turd who spent all his time pinching the office girls' bums. He couldn't run a party in a vodka brewery. 'I might have done,' she replied.
'He says you did.'
'I remember now. I wasn't feeling well. Too much smoking in the office and all the windows were shut. I wanted some fresh air.'
'Do you frequently have headaches?'
'No.'
'Your superior also says you rarely go down to the records area.'
'Does he?'
'He says he never asks you because of your age.'
'Then he's lying. The only reason he doesn't want me there is because I'm not young like the rest of them. You should see what he gets up to with them. Thinks nobody's watching. He's down in the records area all the time, with one of his little tarts.'
'But he wasn't down there when the fire started.'
'No.'
'We've checked every department in this building. Nearly everyone is accountable for their movements at the time of the fire.'
She suddenly realised her true situation, how her hatred of her superior had allowed her defences to slip. She thought she'd been summoned because he was trying to get rid of her, not because she was the prime suspect.
'Which leaves us with you,' said Rostov, now menacing in his tone.
'Why should I…?' she stopped as she desperately tried to clamber out of this awful predicament.
'I will use every means at my disposal to learn the truth. I don't need to tell you of our ways. You, you have lived through the war with the Nazis and through the Stalin purges. Do I have to show you what this organisation is capable of?'
Rostov saw the spirit start to ebb out of her body. Now was the time to push on, he had her. Her age wasn't important, only what she had done.
'You have been a heroine of the state,' he said coldly. 'And now you are caught with your hands in the till. You will be disgraced. Your past deeds, your medals, your honours, even your pension, will be stripped away as though they never happened.' He saw her start to sob as she put her hands up to cover her face.
'Don't,' he snapped. She looked up sharply. 'To me, you are a traitor. I will break you if I have to. You're an old woman who can be broken easily. Tell me why you started the fire. Tell me everything. And then, maybe, I will allow you to leave this place with your dignity intact. Even your pension.'
When she had finished, when her tale was complete, he flicked the switch on the intercom and called his secretary through.
This time he wanted a record of what was said. Any future action he initiated had to have good reason.
It was time he started to protect his own back.
Ch. 38
'So much for an evening of excitement,' said Billie, leaning against the Cadillac. They had been waiting for an hour outside Old Number One.
The white wall of the St Louis cemetery stretched the length of the block. Over the top of it, in the harsh winter moonlight, they could see the shaped domes and pitched roofs of the ornate vaults and burial chambers.