remember that. Tomorrow would look after itself.
He could hear Natasha’s laugh as he turned the key in the lock, but by the time he entered their shared room Valentina’s daughter was sitting grave-faced at the table – her eyes focused on the exercise book in which she was writing. She didn’t even look up at him. Valentina Nikolaevna, on the other hand, stood from the battered Chesterfield, putting aside the book she was reading. Every time he saw her he felt his mood lift – a man could dive into those sea-blue eyes of hers and swim to the horizon.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
They’d come to an arrangement over the last few months – she’d often cook for him, or leave something out for him if he was late and, in exchange, he shared his food parcel with her. It was a domestic arrangement and he was sure there was fondness on her part. For a while, he’d dared to hope a closer relationship might develop, but he wasn’t the kind of man she needed. A battered, middle-aged Ment with a job that kept him busy most of his waking hours? She could do better, that was for sure. No, a beautiful woman like her deserved a man who could look after her properly, and who she could be proud of. She’d find someone soon enough, he suspected – and then he’d probably be back to cooking for himself.
‘We had to arrest a fellow on the outskirts,’ Korolev said, aware that he’d been looking at her in silence for a moment longer than was polite, and cursing himself. ‘A murder. It took a while to get the paperwork in order. Anyway, I picked up the parcel from the canteen. Shall we see what we’ve got?’
He put the package on the table in the small cooking area, feeling that his mouth was not entirely within his control. What was it about her that made him babble like a fourteen-year-old? Sometimes he wished he’d never met the woman, but that was a feeling that never lasted for long. What sort of life would it be if he hadn’t?
Korolev wasn’t asleep when the knock at the door came. Thinking about it afterwards, he wondered if the car pulling up outside had woken him. It wasn’t inconceivable: his bedroom window faced the alleyway and the ZIS would have made a rattle against the snow-swaddled silence of the Moscow night. And, of course, at that time of the morning the streets belonged to the black cars of State Security, and the sound of an engine coming to a halt would have a whole street fearing the worst.
So Korolev was awake, but if it was the car that woke him he’d no memory of it. Instead he was only conscious that he’d been dreaming of that time by the river, only this time it had been Valentina Nikolaevna his arm encircled, and Natasha who’d been sleeping beside them. The memory of the dream was still strong enough for him to feel the weight of the sun on his face and joy rolling up him like a wave. For those two or three moments before the knock came he could have floated up to the ceiling with happiness if his body’s weight hadn’t kept him fixed to the bed.
Three knocks. One. Two. Three. Not much noise, after all, but enough to shatter that moment as if it had been a glass hurled against a wall.
Ever since he’d seen poor Kotov being marched away in his pyjamas, Korolev had slept ready for an immediate departure and he was pulling on his trousers and boots before he’d even worked out what was happening. The mysterious knuckles battered the door again, louder this time, and more insistent, but Korolev took the time to put on an extra vest, take his warmest jumper and his winter coat and pick up the small bag he’d packed for just such an event, before walking through the shared room. He stopped for a moment and looked around and it occurred to him he might never see this place again. Well, if that was what the Lord intended, then there wasn’t much point dwelling on it.
There was another knocking, more insistent now, and Valentina Nikolaevna’s outline appeared in the doorway, Natasha’s sleepy voice coming from behind her, asking a question that he couldn’t quite hear. He shook his head sharply, waving her back in to her daughter, but she didn’t move, waiting until he came closer before putting a hand on his chest. He leant forward, unable to stop himself, and breathed in the scent of her newly washed hair but at the same time remembered himself enough to gently push her back into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. There was no time to say anything or even to consider what her action might have meant before he turned, inhaling deeply, and opened the door to the hallway.
Korolev blinked, dazzled for a moment by the light on the landing, before managing to focus on the man in front of him. There was only one of them, which was odd, and Korolev leant forward slightly to see if there were others hiding in the corridor. The young Chekist smiled at his reaction and that irritated Korolev – if he was to be arrested he’d like to be treated with respect.
‘Going somewhere?’ the lad asked. No more than twenty-five, he’d guess. His deep-set eyes were obscured by shadow, but Korolev had the impression the pup was laughing at him.
‘You tell me,’ Korolev answered, sneaking another look to see where the rest of them were waiting.
‘Yes, we have a short trip to make. To the Lubianka.’
Again that teasing little smile – it was making Korolev’s fist itch.
‘Well, I’m ready.’
‘Good. We must always be prepared. At any time of day or night.’
Now the fellow was quoting Party slogans at him. Korolev could feel his confusion creasing his forehead into a frown.
‘Look, Comrade, it’s half past two in the morning,’ Korolev began before he ran out of words. Am I to be arrested? was what he wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare voice the thought.
‘And you have your bag packed ready for a trip – that’s good.’ The youngster was grinning now, nodding at the case Korolev had placed beside the door.
Korolev swallowed, feeling his mouth dry as paper, and found he’d taken a great dislike to this unimpressive representative of State Security. But then he had a sudden surge of hope – the fellow wasn’t here to arrest him. The rascal was making fun of him because he wasn’t here to arrest him.
‘Look, Comrade,’ Korolev said, confidence returning to his voice, ‘either tell me what your business is, or let me go back to my bed.’
The Chekist seemed to relent. ‘You don’t need the suitcase, Comrade. Colonel Rodinov wants a few minutes of your time – that’s all. The phone system is down so we couldn’t call. I’ve a car outside. My name is Todorov.’
Korolev didn’t shake the Chekist’s hand, or respond to his introduction. Instead he picked up his overcoat and nodded towards the stairs to indicate he’d follow the fellow. He thought for a moment of going in to reassure Valentina Nikolaevna, but decided against it. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Korolev had been waiting in a narrow room, so narrow and so long it was almost a corridor, for the best part of an hour. A stern-looking Dzerzhinsky, the original People’s Commissar of State Security, looked down from a poster beside the far door warning him to ‘Be on your Guard!’, which Korolev thought was sensible advice, tired though he was.
He was about to look in his pocket for a cigarette when there was a bang that sounded like a door slamming shut and the click of approaching footsteps. Then the young Chekist who’d picked him up at Bolshoi Nikolo- Vorobinsky entered, the uniform he’d changed into crisp against the drab blue walls.
‘He’s ready, Comrade. He had some matters to attend to.’
Rodinov had changed in the short time since they’d last met. His skin was pale and flabby, whereas before it had been pink and taut, and his round, hairless head no longer seemed to shine with brutal vigour. The eyes that looked up from the file on the table were bloodshot and tired and the greeting he gave Korolev was nothing more than a grunt and a nod of his head towards the single chair in front of the desk at which he sat.
‘Korolev,’ he said after a moment or two, his eyes narrowing as he glared at him, as if willing Korolev to admit his guilt, even if he was guilty of nothing.
‘Yes, Comrade Colonel. Korolev. You sent for me.’
‘I did,’ the colonel said, and it wasn’t immediately clear whether he was questioning the suggestion or agreeing with it. He looked back down at the file in front of him.
‘Are you prepared to undertake a confidential mission connected with the security of the State, Captain Korolev?’
Well, there was only one answer to that question.
‘Of course, Comrade Colonel.’
