“I’m just reporting what my duty officer told me to report,” the policeman said.
“And if Grachev, in the throes of death, pulls the trigger and puts a bullet into the head of that boy?” asked Elena.
“I’m just reporting what my duty officer told me to report,” the policeman said.
“Tell the marksman to be ready but to do nothing unless I hold up my right arm,” Elena said. “Then he is to safely put a bullet into Grachev’s brain.”
The policeman nodded and moved down the balustrade toward a young man, also in uniform, cradling a rifle in his arms.
“Now?” asked Elena.
“Now,” said Sasha, leaning over the rough concrete to get a better look at Grachev.
Valery Grachev was talking to the boy, apparently ignoring the noise above and behind him.
“Grachev,” Sasha shouted.
The gun came out of the man’s lap and pressed into the stomach of the boy. Sasha looked at the boy, who seemed remarkably unafraid, perhaps even curious and excited. He was, obviously not feeling the same sense of mortality as Sasha Tkach and the helicopter pilot.
“Stay away,” shouted Grachev. “It will all be over soon. Stay away. I want you to watch what I am about to do, but I want you to stay away. This is the end. Kon will not simply surrender. Kon will go with defiance like Boribyonovich in the regionals. I do not wish to harm this boy, but what does it really matter if he dies today, in twenty years, in fifty years. It’s all the same. All we have is the game.”
“I’m coming down,” said Sasha, starting to climb over to the rocks below. “I have no weapon. I won’t get close.”
Elena grabbed his sleeve. “What are you doing?”
“Climbing down to talk to him,” he said calmly.
“That is insane,” Elena said as he continued to climb. “I’m going to signal the marksman.”
“No,” said Sasha, one leg now over the side. “I remind you that I am the senior inspector here.”
“You are the single insane inspector here,” she said.
“A good match,” said Sasha, now about to drop to the rocks. “A mad suspect and a mad inspector. We should have much to talk about.”
With that, Sasha dropped, fell to his knees, and almost tumbled into the dark water.
“Go back. Go back. Go back,” shouted Grachev.
“Very difficult,” said Sasha, still on his knees, hands holding a jutting edge of rock. “I just want to talk.”
“I have work to do,” said Grachev. The young man was bleeding. The front of his shirt was soaked through.
“Perhaps I can help,” Sasha said, moving up the rocks and sitting about a dozen feet from the other man.
“Help? You don’t know what I have to do.”
“I think I do,” said Sasha.
“I …” Grachev began. “It’s you. You shot me.”
Sasha nodded.
“And you tried to shoot me,” said Sasha. “And I think you would have had no trouble succeeding in killing me, had you a little practice with your weapon.”
The boy, who had his dusty-brown hair cut short, was remarkably skinny. His face was clean and he was wearing a pair of jeans and what seemed to be a new black pullover T-shirt.
“I can kill you now,” said Grachev.
Sasha shook his head. “Possibly, we are much closer now. But consider this, if you shoot me, a man with a rifle whom you cannot see will put a bullet through your brain. You stand a far better chance of missing me than he of missing you. Then you would be dead and unable to do whatever it is you plan to do.”
Grachev, his face pale, seemed to smile. “And you are not afraid?”
“Oh, very much afraid,” said Sasha. “Very much, but I said to myself up there that if I did not do this I would be afraid for whatever remains of my life.”
“Yes,” said Grachev. “Yes.”
“May I ask a question?” asked Sasha.
“Yes, then I have one. I think we should be quick.”
“Who is Boribyonovich?”
Grachev looked at the detective. “Don’t you play chess?”
“A little, badly,” Sasha said, looking across the water at the wall of the Kremlin. “My wife is the chess player.”
“She is a true Russian.”
“She’s Ukrainian,” said Sasha. “Her name is Maya. I have two children.”
“You are trying to make me feel sympathy,” said Grachev.
“Am I? I don’t know. Maybe. I was … I don’t know,” said Sasha.
Sasha continued to look across the river at the wall, at the flowing traffic, which paused as drivers looked across and saw the crowd of police vehicles and the two men and a boy on the rocks.
“I’ve always wanted to climb that tower,” Sasha said, pointing across the river.
“The Moskvoretsky Tower,” said Grachev.
“Yes. An interesting sight from this perspective. Have you ever been down on the rocks before?”
“No. I have a question. Do you love your wife?” asked Grachev.
“Is that the question you want to ask?”
“No, it just came to me. I’ll ask the other soon, very soon. Now I have a third question. What’s your name?”
“Sasha. And yours is Valery.”
“Mine is Kon,” he corrected.
“Yes, I love my wife. I love my children. My wife has taken them to Kiev, Kon.”
“Why?”
“Because I have behaved like an animal, a brooding animal in the zoo. You’ve seen the tigers in those small cages. Pacing, pacing. They are depressed. I was told that by my chief inspector. When he told me about the tigers, I stopped taking my older daughter, Pulcharia, to see them.”
“Sasha, I think I am dying. I have work to do and I don’t understand what you are saying, but I do understand love. I am sitting here like this because of a woman I love. No, that is not fair, I am sitting here because of what I wanted and because I seem to be growing more and more mad as I lose blood. Also, I think I have the flu.”
“I would say you are not having a good day,” said Sasha.
Grachev laughed and then coughed. The boy at his side made it clear by his look that he had no idea what this madman who had kidnapped him was laughing at.
“A very bad day, but I mean to salvage something.”
“That is understandable,” Sasha said. “Who is the woman, the one you love?”
“No,” Grachev said, shaking his head. “I am dying. I am going mad, but I am still playing and I will go down protecting my queen.”
“All right, then what is the boy’s name?”
“I don’t know. What is your name?”
He turned his eyes to the boy, the gun touching the black T-shirt.
“B.B.,” said the boy.
“Your real name,” said Grachev.
“Artiom. Are you going to shoot me?”
The boy seemed more curious and excited than afraid.
“No.”
“Are you going to shoot yourself?”
“You watch too many movies on television,” said Grachev. “You should be playing chess.”
“I don’t like chess.”
