Their faces were covered with welts, their eyes were swollen, their shirts were ripped open, and burn marks were on their necks and chests. Both men looked to the door when he opened it and, with their eyes, pleaded with him for help.
The other part of the scene Nikolai would never forget was Captain Brovko at the door about to come out while Major Komarov aimed his pistol at Brovko’s back. The look on Komarov’s face was alarming. Time stopped. The men in the chairs stared with pleading eyes. Komarov aimed his pistol at Brovko. Then time resumed and Komarov emptied his pistol into the floor. After this incident Brovko went back inside and closed the door.
The shots attracted the attention of the rest of the men. While Nikolai was on duty at the front door, several held a lengthy conference near the parked Volgas. One of the men approached Nikolai and asked what he had seen in the house. While considering his answer, Nikolai thought of many things. He thought of the look on Komarov’s face. He thought of Pavel smiling up at him while blood gushed from his temple. He thought of Pavel’s wife at the funeral. Finally Nikolai told the other men that if he hadn’t opened the door when he did, he was certain Komarov would have shot Captain Brovko in the back.
Now, as Nikolai sat in the Volga watching the morning sky brighten, he wondered if he should go into the house and tell Captain Brovko what the other men, gathering in small groups before dawn, already knew.
Whenever he moved, Lazlo’s face felt as if it had expanded, creating more nerves to send messages of pain to his brain. Although he had lost track of time, he felt at least an hour had gone by since Komarov had stopped his beatings. The last thing Komarov had done was to blow cigarette smoke into their faces.
It was quiet in the room, so quiet he could hear Bela’s deep breaths. He hoped Bela would not begin snoring and rouse Komarov, who had apparently settled in the daybed behind them. Earlier, the man he now knew as Captain Brovko had given both him and Bela a drink of water. Now Brovko sat at the kitchen table. The phonograph was off the table and back in the cabinet. When Komarov finished beating them and placed Lazlo’s pistol on the table, Brovko had picked it up and tucked it into his belt. Now Brovko sat with his elbows on the table, staring out the window at the new dawn.
Last night, during Komarov’s beatings, there had been increasing evidence Brovko did not approve. Brovko attempted several approaches to convince Komarov they should return to Kiev with their prisoners. Each time, Komarov refused, insisting Lazlo knew where Juli Popovics was and Bela knew where the women and children were. After the incident in which Komarov shot Lazlo’s pistol into the floor, Brovko was especially watchful, never leaving them alone in the house with Komarov.
Lazlo recalled the man who opened the door. It was the same man he had sent back to Kiev in his Zhiguli after shooting his partner in Visenka. The man who had wept as his partner lay bleeding in his lap. He had heard Brovko call the man Nikolai. And now he recalled the partner’s name because it had been repeated over and over.
“Pavel! Don’t die, Pavel!”
Again, the question. Why would Komarov send an untrained agent on a dangerous mission? Were there more untrained agents outside? The man he had hit over the head had been young. Were they all fresh recruits primed to kill or be killed?
Lazlo opened his eyes wider and, although it was painful, moved his head slowly from side to side. He tried to get Brovko’s attention without speaking out loud, but Brovko continued staring out the window.
As the sun rose, its brightness through the windows overpowered the overhead light. When Brovko stretched and yawned, Lazlo stared at him, motioned with his head, and finally stuck out his swollen tongue and wagged it at Brovko.
Brovko stood and came to Lazlo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I was trying to get your attention,” whispered Lazlo.
“Why?”
“I thought you might want to hear another Hungarian song. I can sing one for you.”
Brovko smiled. “You have a sense of humor.” Then Brovko looked over Lazlo’s shoulder and frowned. “However, I wouldn’t try any jokes on the major.”
“I know. My cousin and I didn’t laugh all night. Apparently he’s sleeping?”
“Your cousin?”
“Komarov.”
“He appears to be sleeping.”
“Then I’d like to ask you something.”
“What?”
“I’d like to ask the same question you did. Why does he want the women and children?”
Brovko stared at Lazlo for a moment. Then he went to the sink and came back with a glass of water. He held the water to Lazlo’s lips.
The rooster had crowed, the sun was up, and budding trees surrounding the house were capped in orange. Nikolai reached out and switched off the Volga’s engine. He lowered the window slightly and listened to the birds. It was a fine spring morning, and Nikolai relished the moment of peace until, in the distance, he heard the sound of an engine laboring up the hill.
Nikolai left the Volga and walked out on the road. When the bus carrying farm workers topped the hill, Nikolai signaled it to stop. The driver, a heavy man with several chins, looked worried.
“Bela Sandor won’t be going with you today,” said Nikolai.
“Is he ill?” asked the driver.
“Yes. You can try again tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow is Sunday. We won’t be working tomorrow.”
While the bus turned around, the few farmers on the bus looked out at Nikolai as if he were a monster. When Nikolai returned to the Volga, Captain Brovko was inside.
“I told the bus driver Bela Sandor was ill.”
“He’s better now,” said Brovko. “Komarov is napping.”
“What will he do when he wakes up?”
“I don’t know. I called two men in to relieve me. If Komarov wakes up, he’ll probably chase them out of the house.”
A pause, then Brovko turned to Nikolai. “You have something to tell me about what happened earlier. Something you couldn’t say in front of Komarov.”
“How did you know?”
“I saw the look on your face when you came through the door.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, Captain. I wouldn’t if I had any doubt.”
“Go on.”
“When I opened the door, Major Komarov had his pistol pointed at your back.”
When Brovko reached into his belt and pulled out a pistol, Nikolai froze.
“Don’t worry, Nikolai. I simply wanted to show you the pistol.”
He held it out for Nikolai to see. “It’s an old Makarov belonging to Detective Horvath. The same pistol he used to shoot your friend Pavel.
The same pistol Major Komarov emptied into the floor of the house.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
“Major Komarov aimed this pistol at my back. Why would he aim Detective Horvath’s pistol instead of his own?”
“I don’t know, Captain.”
“Do you think the major was prepared to shoot me?”
“It’s hard to say. He looked… like he had lost control.”
“The major has become emotional about the case. He can’t be left alone.”
“What should we do, Captain? You’re the officer in charge.”
“Major Komarov is the officer in charge.”
“But if he’s emotionally unbalanced…”
“What do the other psychiatrists think?”
“I don’t understand…”
“The other men. What’s the consensus concerning Major Komarov’s mental health?”
