“What a place,” Gorchakov groaned.
“Daring,” Repin said. Red Square was a good place to sell dollars or blue jeans, but it did seem a remarkable place for this sort of operation. “Well, we wait.” Repin was still watching the diplomatic car’s lights by the Kremlin wall.
“I can’t wait here very long,” Gorchakov said.
“Turn off your lights.”
“The Moscow police watch the square all the time now. I don’t have an arrangement with them for this business.”
“I will take care of the Moscow police. Turn off your lights!”
Repin fiddled with the black box. The signal was strong, and when the other car pulled away from the wall, there was no doubt that the tube had been left behind.
“In the wall?” Tarp said.
“Probably. Too dark to see.”
“I can’t stay here,” Gorchakov said.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I cannot!”
“Get out the tools and pretend you’re changing a tire. We wait here.”
Gorchakov turned around in the driver’s seat so he could confront Repin. He looked first at Tarp, appealing to him as if he were a neutral observer, and then he turned his full attention on the old man. “If the police come, they will make trouble. They are trying to clean up the black market in the square; they have lots of spirit, you know? If I pretend to have a breakdown, they will have a truck here in minutes. If I claim official privilege, they have to log it. Then your Maxudov may hear about it.”
“Who says?”
“If I was Maxudov, it’s the first precaution I would take. How much trouble do you think he would have bribing somebody at Police Central?”
Both men were stubborn, and they might even have enjoyed this kind of clash if Repin had not been so committed to what he was doing. Gorchakov was still angry about the drunk, however, and Repin was losing his objectivity as he feared it all might slip away from them.
“How about bringing in a cover?” Tarp said. Both men looked at him with the suspicion that two people who have been looking for a fight give to the peacemaker. “A repair vehicle, something like that.”
There was a moment’s pause in the hostilities. “This isn’t New York,” Gorchakov said sarcastically.
“We don’t tear up Red Square once a week,” Repin added, as if he and Gorchakov had been rehearsing the response to such a stupid suggestion.
“We may be here all night,” Tarp said. “It’s to Maxudov’s advantage to wait. But some kind of cover shouldn’t be impossible.”
“No time,” Repin said.
“Of course there’s time,” Gorchakov said as if his pride had been touched. “We have a special office for that kind of work.”
“How soon?” Tarp said.
“An hour at the longest. Less.”
Tarp looked at Repin. “Well?”
Gorchakov said, more reasonably now that Tarp seemed to be with him, “It’s a good idea. Really, the city cops will be here anytime.” He gave Repin an apologetic smile. “Good old Moscow, eh?”
Repin looked at each of them, shrugged as if he were being outvoted by idiots. “All right.”
Tarp put his hand out to open the door. “We’ll walk. You take the car and arrange the cover.” He jerked his head at Repin. “It’s still early; we can walk around the square and not look suspicious. The tourists are still out.”
Repin’s lips made the sucking motions Tarp had learned to recognize, as if he had a cough drop in his mouth; he was covering inner indecision. “You’ve got the French passport. I have an Intourist ID. That is all right for the police. You’re a foreigner, I’m watching over you. You wanted to see Red Square by night.” He sighed. “It will be a nice scene if the cops stop us and Find these cannons. Let’s go.”
“I’ll be quick,” Gorchakov said.
Repin said dryly, “Of course you will.”
They walked slowly around the enormous square, stating where they could watch the place in the wall where the tube had been left. It was colder. Repin put one hand through the crook of Tarp’s arm. “I’m hungry,” Repin said. Later he muttered, “This gun feels like a rock.” They walked in silence. A car pulled even with them. “Police,” Repin muttered. It did not stop, however, but accelerated and headed for the far end of the square. “If we go around again, they will stop us,” Repin said. “We look as if we’re waiting for somebody to make us an offer for dollars. Walk slower.”
Forty-one minutes after Gorchakov had left them, a heavy van appeared where the twenty-foot-high banners were illuminated and began to cruise slowly by them. It stopped; men got out and began to erect a scaffolding.
“For us?” Tarp said. They were nearing the end of their round and he was very nervous about the police now.
“And about time,” Repin said. When they walked to the van, Gorchakov was waiting. He grinned triumphantly. “Well?” he said.
“It’s pretty obvious,” Repin said. “Maxudov’s no fool.”
“Neither am I.” Gorchakov’s good humor was restored. He was one of those men who are quickly angered and who as quickly cool. “A backdated work order has been filed with the Department of Municipal Improvement; a permission chit is in the basket at Police Central, exactly where it should be in the pile if it had been dropped in three days ago. The cops here in the square have been reminded that banner replacement has been on the schedule since Tuesday because the vice-premier of Indonesia is coming to town and the motorcade passes this way.”
“The Guards keep an eye on Red Square, too,” Repin said. He jerked his head toward the Kremlin. “Maxudov may keep track of what goes on here through the Guards’ office.”
Gorchakov’s smile became a little stiff. “I thought of that. I sealed off Guards’ operation center before I did anything else. On the general secretary’s orders.”
“Sealed off?”
“I called in my own people. If anybody at Guards’ operation center tries to warn Maxudov about the van and the banner changings, we’ll intercept the message and stop it. Aren’t you two hungry? I brought food from a canteen. You can’t stand out here and not be hungry.”
They stood around the van, eating salty ham and potatoes and dark bread. Repin was quieter, but Tarp knew that he was still serious when he refused a drink. After another hour a motorcycle stopped next to them and a young man in blue jeans and western boots got off. He handed Gorchakov a brown envelope and drove off again with that gutsy roar that motorcyclists everywhere seem to love.
“Well?”
Gorchakov was reading a blue message paper. “Just after I put my people in, the duty commander called and said he wanted to monitor all activities in Red Square.” He made a popping sound with his lips. “I suppose he’s Maxudov’s man. The little man who made the drop by the wall must have made a phone call; then the duty commander was called.”
“So?” Repin said.
“Awkward.”
“Has he been told about this van?”
“No. We intercepted the report.” Gorchakov made the popping sound again. “Awkward. He’s a lieutenant-colonel. You two better be right.”
Repin grunted. “We’re right.”
Repin and Tarp took turns watching the place where the tube had been left. There were binoculars, but Tarp found them more trouble than help. Mostly, he and Repin walked up and down by the van, both watching. Gorchakov stayed behind the wheel. A police car stopped and Gorchakov leaned down and joked with the men inside. Tarp watched them, understanding that boisterous, slightly nervous camaraderie of men in the same work under different bosses, at the same time allies and rivals. After some minutes the laughter stopped and the talk became serious. Then Gorchakov saluted; the policeman at the wheel waved, and the car pulled away.