outs like this, but you didn’t expect such a thing in the Soviet Union. Of course, there were criminals here just as there were in the Capitalist countries, but this was extraordinary. To have so many dead in one place outside of a war was unbelievable. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, looking down into the empty eyes of one of the gunrunners. It made you wonder. It certainly made you wonder.
The trembling that he’d managed to suppress until that point started up again in his left foot. He tried to stop it by wedging the toe of his boot into the gap between a crate and the wall, but that did nothing. The trembling spread up to his knees. He was cold, so very, very cold. What the hell was wrong with him? He pulled an arm across his face, feeling his coat sleeve pushing a layer of sweat across the skin as he did. He was worn out, that was all. Tired. And then this damned bloodbath. And how close death had been this evening. He looked down at the dead terrorist and thought how easily it could have been him lying there, an empty husk of cold skin and bone.
When he was calm again, he gathered the dead men’s guns from the surrounding tunnels – for something to do as much as anything else. There were sixteen corpses altogether, and that wasn’t even counting the unwilling guide whose throat Kolya had slit before the main shooting had started. And all he wanted was to get out of this tunnel and out of this city and away from this place as soon as could possibly be managed. Back to Moscow, where he knew what was what, more or less.
He’d put the last of the weapons with the ones he’d gathered earlier into an empty crate when he heard the sound. Nothing at all, probably, but he hid behind a pile of crates, putting a round into the chamber of his machine gun. Another more distinct noise, like the sound a hob-nailed boot makes when it is trying to move quietly.
He didn’t recognize the youngster who came into the room, but he had the look of a Chekist about him – a well-built fellow in a short black woollen overcoat, grey cavalry trousers twisted into high brown boots that glinted in the light from the two remaining lanterns. He also had a punchy-looking revolver in his hand and an expression of extreme apprehension. Korolev watched the Chekist’s gun barrel draw wide arcs in the air as it led his gaze around the destruction until eventually he saw Korolev and the machine gun. The Chekist gave an explosive gasp of fear and his hands, gun included, flew upwards in a declaration of surrender. Korolev doubted he’d come all this way on his own, so he decided to keep quiet and wait and see what happened next.
‘We have you surrounded,’ a familiar voice called in from the next chamber along. ‘Put down your weapons and you’ll be treated fairly.’
‘Come on in, Comrade Major,’ Korolev called out, deciding to play the situation straight. ‘The room is secured.’
‘Korolev?’
‘The same, Comrade Major. And pleased you’ve shown up, I can tell you.’ Korolev hadn’t intended his words to sound ironic, but there it was. Mushkin came round the corner, his gun pointing at the floor and a look of bemusement on his face as he looked at the dead men and crates full of guns. He even smiled as he slipped his pistol into the holster of the Sam Browne belt he had strapped across his chest.
‘Well, Korolev, you’ve been busy I see,’ he said, turning to the young Chekist. ‘Put your hands down, Petrov. This is Korolev, the Militia expert from Moscow.’
‘No, he can keep them up for the moment, Comrade Major. You too, for that matter.’
‘What’s this, Korolev?’ Mushkin asked.
‘How did you find your way here, Comrade Major, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘How did I find my way here? What kind of question is that?’ Mushkin’s anger was beginning to show.
‘Did you have a look at any of the dead out there, Comrade Major? One of them is your protege, Sergeant Gradov from the village station. You’ll remember him – the fellow on whose behalf you interceded when he lost his weapon last year.’
‘Gradov?’
Irritated, yes, but no sudden fear or concern.
‘Yes, Gradov. He was one of the terrorists – that’s what he was doing here. Helping run guns for a rebellion against the State is how your Sergeant Gradov was passing his time.’
‘Gradov? A terrorist? I don’t believe it.’
‘So my question to you is how did you end up down here, Comrade Major? I ask this because it’s not a place you just stumble upon.’
‘I didn’t just stumble upon it, Korolev. Petrov here is friendly with a woman whose husband disappeared yesterday. A stonecutter. She thought he’d got involved in some smuggling operation and came to Petrov for help, and he came to me.’
‘How convenient. And you managed to make your way to this exact spot.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Korolev, but I haven’t been inside these tunnels since the Civil War. And wouldn’t be down here now if Petrov hadn’t brought me down here.’
‘Olga Ivanova gave me a map.’ Petrov’s voice was a barely audible whisper.
‘And why would she tell you to come down here?’
‘Because her husband didn’t come home last night. She had a bad feeling about him. And she was right. We found him with his throat cut back along the passageway. But she knew where this place was.’
‘Petrov came to me, as I said,’ Mushkin interjected, ‘and since Rodinov told us this business had something to do with the catacombs, we followed it up.’ Mushkin’s voice sounded angry now. ‘So put the damned gun down, Korolev. You’ve done your duty – you’ve asked the questions – but enough is enough.’
Suddenly the sound of more people approaching came from the direction the Greek and Slivka had left in. Petrov looked concerned, as well he might, but it was Colonel Marchuk’s voice that called into the chamber.
‘Korolev?’
‘In here, Comrade Colonel.’
The room was soon flooded with uniforms, all armed to the teeth. The colonel looked around at the weapons and the men lying dead, and nodded his grim approval to Korolev. Then he set to work.
In a whirlwind of activity the colonel sent for more men, congratulated Korolev, praised Slivka and the Greek, calculated how long it might take to move the weapons, identified some of those lying dead and cursed the traitor Gradov for a black-hearted villain. And at some point, amidst all the bustle and confusion, Mushkin disappeared.
§
‘Comrade Petrov,’ Korolev asked. ‘Where’s your boss gone to?’
‘Major Mushkin? He’s gone to report to headquarters. He wants our people to take over down here.’
Korolev looked around for Slivka. She was at his elbow, bless her.
‘When did he go and which direction?’
Petrov indicated the far tunnel, confused as he realized that the Major had chosen a different way out from the way he’d come in. Odd, given he’d said he hadn’t visited the catacombs in fifteen years.
‘When?’
‘Not more than two minutes past, Comrade.’
Korolev turned to Slivka. ‘Run after him. If you find him, follow him. See where he ends up.’
‘Petrov,’ Korolev said, after Slivka had gone, ‘tell me why there weren’t more of you down here? Why just the two of you?’
‘The major said we had to keep it strictly confidential, Comrade Korolev. Between ourselves.’
‘So no one else apart from you and the major knew you were down here, or about Olga Ivanova’s map.’
‘No one.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Things were moving quickly now, and Korolev had to admit he was impressed with Marchuk. In less than an hour the captured weapons had been moved out of the catacombs and into the security of the Bebel Street station. On top of this, Marchuk had put every Militiaman in Odessa out on the streets, had closed down the railway station, blocked the roads out of the city, and now even ships were to be prevented from leaving the harbour. Even Rodinov was pleased.
