Tonight, however, it was only pity Aleksei felt for the man he now watched, negotiating with Kyesha a fee he would never live to pay. It was a smart policy for a voordalak who had died young enough to retain his looks. Again, Aleksei could only contrast Kyesha with the Oprichniki he had known before. Few of them were in any state to offer themselves as enticing bait – to man or to woman. Brute force was their only tactic. Had Kyesha’s first victim, the one that Domnikiia had described to Aleksei, been lured in the same way? The guard at the Kremlin had been prey Kyesha had fallen upon simply by chance. Did it matter who exactly died at Kyesha’s hand tonight? Aleksei knew it was his duty to destroy this creature, but he would not play God and choose who his victim would be. If he could kill him tonight, all the better, but he would not, despite his instinct, shout out now to save this man. Kyesha would find a substitute before the night was over.
Again, Aleksei caught sight of the figure to his left. He wasn’t doing a great job of tracking him unobserved, whoever he might be. But who was it? Some companion of Kyesha’s, looking out for his safety? A government spy keeping tabs on a known member of the Northern Society? Or conversely, could it be a member of the Northern Society in pursuit of a suspected government spy?
The safest choice was to assume the most dangerous protagonist. If this man was working with Kyesha, then it could mean death for Aleksei. He had to be dealt with first. At the next junction Aleksei broke into a run. Kyesha was still some way ahead and unlikely to notice, but anyone keeping his eye on Aleksei would. As soon as he was beyond the junction Aleksei stopped and doubled back, turning down the road along which he had seen his pursuer. When he came to the next corner he could see the figure ahead of him, turning his head from side to side, attempting to relocate his prey. Aleksei also now recognized who it was. He walked briskly down the street towards him. The man set off at right angles, towards where he expected Aleksei to be, but it took little time to catch up with him. Aleksei put a hand on his shoulder and spun him round to face him.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked, his teeth gritted.
Dmitry looked at his father and stammered a few words, but could produce nothing articulate.
‘Why were you following me?’
‘I was worried.’
‘Worried?’ asked Aleksei, trying to appear angrier – and less fearful – than he actually was.
‘Curious,’ admitted Dmitry. ‘You’ve hardly been at your hotel at all.’
‘You’d have to have been spying on me to know that in the first place,’ said Aleksei.
‘No.’ Dmitry remained flustered. ‘But whenever I’ve called on you, you’ve been out.’
‘And so once you did manage to find me, you followed me?’
‘Yes,’ replied Dmitry simply.
‘Then you will have noticed I’m in the middle of something.’
Dmitry’s face lit up. ‘I can see. What’s it all about?’
Aleksei suddenly realized how much time he was wasting. While his pursuer was unknown, it had been the better bet to find out who he was. Now he knew, there was no danger to him, but the danger to Moscow still existed.
‘A man’s life is at risk,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
With that, he ran down the street towards where he had last seen Kyesha negotiating with his potential victim. He heard Dmitry’s feet behind him, but there was no time to deal with that now. He emerged back on to the main street and looked in both directions, but saw nothing. Kyesha had escaped. To Aleksei, and to Kyesha, it meant little; just one night’s delay before their ultimate confrontation.
But to the middle-aged man who had, as far as Aleksei could tell, gone with Kyesha, it would make all the difference in the world. There would be no more lying to his wife and family now. His secret life – his life itself – would shortly be at an end.
That, of course, was only one possible outcome. Kyesha could kill him, relatively swiftly, relatively painlessly, and give him the chance of bliss eternal, or at least of eternal nothingness. Or Kyesha could offer him one final temptation, and give him the opportunity to spend eternity, or what might seem like it, as a pariah; an abomination to all mankind. Aleksei prayed that Kyesha would choose to be merciful.
CHAPTER VIII
‘WE LOST HIM?’
The voice was Dmitry’s, speaking in undertones close to Aleksei’s ear. Aleksei nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dmitry.
‘Let’s get a drink,’ said Aleksei. There were plenty of places to choose from, but they were not far from Lubyanka Square, and so went to that same club where Aleksei had first discovered his son’s true loyalties.
It was quiet at that time of the evening, but Aleksei acknowledged a few acquaintances, and noted his son doing the same. They found a quiet corner where they could talk. Aleksei drank vodka; his son, brandy.
‘So who were you following?’ asked Dmitry as soon as the waiter had left them with their drinks.
Aleksei considered. There was no question of him telling his son the truth. This terror should have ended thirteen years before, and Aleksei hoped it would end now, but above all he was not going to let it pass down to the next generation. Dmitry would die nobly on some battlefield, or better, old and in bed. But if it was within Aleksei’s powers, he would never have to face, or even hear of, the horrors that the voordalaki could bring to mankind. So the question was not whether he should tell the truth, but precisely what lies he should spin. There was no pain in this kind of lie. He took a deep breath.
‘I think it may be the murderer,’ he said in a low voice.
Dmitry looked around, making sure that no one had heard. Aleksei hid a smile, amused at the idea that his son should be mimicking the precautions that he himself, out of years of experience, found almost instinctive.
‘Really?’ whispered Dmitry.
Aleksei nodded. ‘I can place him at the scene of the murder in Red Square, and I think we can be sure that’s linked to the one in Tverskaya.’ Dmitry nodded. He seemed excited by the proximity to danger, which was another reason for Aleksei to keep him away from it. ‘I’d expected there to be another murder last night, but I’ve heard nothing.’
‘Me neither,’ said Dmitry.
‘Tonight’s victim is probably dead already.’ An image flashed before his eyes, an amalgam of all the deaths he had witnessed at the hands of a voordalak. What particular torture would it be that most whetted Kyesha’s appetite? Blood and sinew and clenched jaws and the sound of screams filled his mind. Somewhere in the city, probably not far away, that was happening to the licentious man whose face Aleksei could clearly remember, and whose evening would be ending with so different a climax from the one he had expected.
‘Who is he?’
‘That I’ve yet to find out.’
‘But it’s connected with the message – and the meeting in Desna.’