We’re in new times, Leo. Our leader Khrushchev considers the problems you faced in your investigation part of the unpardonable excesses of Stalinist rule. Your wife has been released. Since she assisted you in hunting this foreign operative any question of her loyalty has now been answered. Both your records will be wiped clean. Your parents will have their old apartment back. If that is not available, then they will have a better one.
Leo remained silent.
– You have nothing to say?
– That is a very generous offer. And I’m honoured. You understand that I acted without any thought of promotion or power. I merely knew this man had to be stopped.
– I understand.
– But I would like permission to turn down your offer. And instead make a request of my own.
– Go on.
– I want to take charge of a Moscow homicide department. If such a department does not exist I would like to create it.
– What need is there of such a department?
– As you already said yourself, murder will become a weapon against our society. If they cannot spread their propaganda through conventional means, they will use unorthodox means. I believe crime will become a new front in our struggle with the West. They will use it to undermine the harmonious nature of our society. When they do, I want to be there to stop it.
– Go on.
– I would like General Nesterov transferred to Moscow. I would like him to work with me in this new department.
Grachev considered the request, nodding solemnly.
Raisa was waiting outside, staring up at the statue of Dzerzhinsky. Leo exited the building and took her hand, a brazen display of affection no doubt scrutinized by those staring out of the Lubyanka. He didn’t care. They were safe, at least for the time being. That was long enough; that was as long as anyone could possibly hope for. He glanced up at Dzerzhinsky’s statue and realized that he couldn’t remember a single thing that man had ever said.
ONE WEEK LATER
Moscow
25 July
Leo and Raisa were seated in the director’s office of Orphanage 12, located not far from the zoo. Leo glanced at his wife and asked:
– What’s taking so long?
– I don’t know.
– Something’s wrong.
Raisa shook her head:
– I don’t think so.
– The director didn’t like us very much.
– He seemed OK to me.
– But what did he think of us?
– I don’t know.
– Do you think he liked us?
– It doesn’t really matter what he thinks. It matters what they think.
Leo stood up, restless, saying:
– He has to sign off on it.
– He’ll sign the papers. That’s not the issue.
Leo sat down again, nodding.
– You’re right. I’m nervous.
– So am I.
– How do I look?
– You look fine.
– Not too formal?
– Relax, Leo.
The door opened. The director, a man in his forties, entered the room.
– I’ve found them.
Leo wondered if that was just a turn of phrase or whether he’d literally searched the building. The man stepped aside. Standing behind him were two young girls, Zoya and Elena, the daughters of Mikhail Zionoviev. It had been several months since they’d witnessed their parents’ execution in the snow outside their home. In that time the physical change was dramatic. They’d lost weight, their skin had lost colour. The younger girl, Elena, only four years old, had a shaved head. The elder girl, Zoya, ten years old, had her hair cropped short. They’d almost inevitably been infested with lice.
Leo stood up, Raisa beside him. He turned to the director.
– Could we have a moment alone?
The director didn’t like the request. But he obliged and retired, shutting the door. Both girls positioned themselves with their backs against the door as far away from them as possible.
– Zoya, Elena, my name is Leo. Do you remember me?
No response, no change in their expression. Their eyes were alert, waiting for danger. Zoya took hold of her little sister’s hand.
– This is my wife Raisa. She’s a teacher.
– Hello, Zoya. Hello, Elena. Why don’t you both take a seat? It’s much more comfortable sitting down.
Leo picked up the chairs, putting them down near the girls. Although reluctant to move from the door, they sat down, still holding hands, still saying nothing.
Leo and Raisa crouched so that they were below the children’s eye level, still keeping their distance. The girls’ fingernails were black-perfect lines of grime-but their hands were otherwise clean. It was obvious that they’d been hastily tidied up before the meeting. Leo began.
– My wife and I want to offer you a home, our home.
– Leo has explained to me the reason you’re here. I’m sorry if this is upsetting to talk about, but it’s important we say these things now.
– Although I tried to stop the murder of your mother and your father, I failed. Maybe you see no difference between me and the officer who committed that terrible crime. But I promise you, I am different.
Leo faltered. He took a second, regaining his composure:
– You might feel that by living with us you’re being disloyal to your parents. But I believe your parents would want the best for you. And life in these orphanages will offer you nothing. After four months I’m sure you understand that better than anyone.
Raisa continued:
– This is a difficult decision we’re asking you to make. You’re both very young. Unfortunately we live in a time when children are forced to make adult decisions. If you stay here your lives will be tough and they’re unlikely to get any easier.
– My wife and I want to offer you back your childhood, we want to offer you a chance to enjoy being young. We won’t take the place of your parents. No one can replace them. We’ll be your guardians. We’ll look after you, feed you and give you a home.
Raisa smiled, adding:
– We expect nothing in return. You don’t have to love us: you don’t even have to like us necessarily, although we hope, eventually, you will. You can use us to get out of here.
Supposing the girls wanted to say no, Leo added:
