same dark suit. Away from the warmth of the car, Kazin shivered in his own overcoat, thinking the vehicle might have been more comfortable after all. He pulled into the rotund garden house, glad of the partial protection from the worst of the evening chill.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Kazin demanded at once.
‘Malik’s still investigating,’ announced Panchenko.
The familiar chill Kazin experienced now had nothing to do with the evening’s cold. He said: ‘How do you know?’
‘He withdrew Chernov from Kiev. I’ve just had two hours of the man telling me all about this afternoon’s interview with the bastard,’ said Panchenko.
‘How the hell could Chernov have been withdrawn without your knowing?’ demanded Kazin.
‘Malik withheld notification of authority until Chernov was back. Had him taken directly to Dzerzhinsky Square from the airport.’
‘It is a problem,’ conceded Kazin. ‘A serious problem.’
Panchenko snorted an empty laugh, openly careless of Kazin’s superiority. ‘Serious! You’re damned right it’s serious! It could be disastrous…’ The pause was achingly posed. ‘… Disastrous for both of us…’
Still not the time for correction, thought Kazin; but then it had not been on the previous occasion, either. As insistent now as he had been then, Kazin said: ‘Tell me everything, from the very beginning: nothing left out.’
Panchenko did, from the discovery of the recall notice and the coincidence of Chernov’s almost immediate approach, and throughout Kazin listened head slightly bowed but surprisingly – illogically – all the time conscious of the flow of people in the street outside, funnelling white-breathed towards the underground station. Small people with small fears, he thought, almost enviously.
‘How could Chernov have told a story so different from yours?’ Kazin said when the security chief finished.
‘How could he do otherwise?’ came back Panchenko, as irritated by that remark as he had been by the earlier reflection. ‘It was to avoid any contradiction that we had him posted to Kiev!’
‘I never imagined Malik would be this determined,’ said Kazin, reflective again. But why not? Hadn’t the misshapen pig been this determined when he’d returned from Stalingrad, the whey-faced, bemedalled war hero, to discover his wife didn’t love him any more?
I love you.
Leave him then.
I can’t, not like he is now.
You must.
I can’t!
Momentarily Kazin closed his eyes, shutting out the memories. Urgently he said: ‘So what was Chernov’s impression? Why did he think he was being questioned at all?’
Panchenko replied carefully. He said: ‘Chernov talked of a lot of files and documentation on the desk. And said Malik kept making notes. Chernov felt it was an official inquiry: Malik is reassigning him to Moscow to be available for more questioning.’
‘And Malik knows the rest of the squad were drafted away from Moscow?’ demanded Kazin, wanting absolute clarification.
As he spoke, Kazin shifted, needing movement against the cold, and Panchenko followed him, so that they resumed in the same position as that in which they had earlier been talking. Panchenko said: ‘Chernov was quite explicit about it. Said Malik asked him if he knew of the transfers, which he didn’t of course. And then queried if Chernov had requested his move.’
‘Any indication of the others being recalled?’
‘No,’ said Panchenko at once. Just as quickly, he said: ‘But then we didn’t know about Chernov until it had happened, did we?’
‘You could specifically inquire,’ suggested Kazin.
And have my name upon an incriminating document, thought Panchenko. He said: ‘What legitimate reason would I have for doing so?’
Kazin again avoided a direct reply. Instead he said: ‘So Malik has brought back to Moscow a man who’s given an account different from yours. And might possibly interrogate the others. But so what? Every recollection has to vary.’
‘Can you take the risk of his probing until he finds the evidence you know is there to be found?’ asked Panchenko.
So much about this encounter appeared a repetition of the first, thought Kazin, recognizing the qualification. Responding to it and wanting to correct the imbalance in their positions, he said: ‘No, I don’t suppose I can take that risk. I don’t think that either of us can take that risk…’ Now he staged the artificial pause. ‘But my understanding was that the evidence, such as it is, incriminates you?’
‘I was following your orders, not Malik’s, in doing what I did that night at Gogolevskiy Boulevard,’ insisted Panchenko.
‘I don’t remember anything being written down: any provable documentation,’ said Kazin with ominous mildness.
For a long time Panchenko stared unspeaking across the narrow space separating them. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Kazin, with forced patience. ‘I don’t think you do see. Perhaps I was wrong, a few moments ago, in trying to minimize the dangers. Something has to be done, to protect us both. Permanently to protect us both. But before we consider that, let’s consider something else that would be wrong. It would be a very stupid mistake for us to fall out: to start making threats against each other. I think you are dependent upon me and I am dependent upon you. Have I made myself clear?’
‘I think so,’ said Panchenko. In the half light the man’s expression seemed something like a smile. ‘What can be done to protect us both? And permanently?’
Once more Kazin wished there had been an opportunity, an hour at least, for more consideration. He said: ‘Something very permanent.’
There was no expression resembling a smile upon Panchenko’s face now. His voice cracking with the strain, the man said: ‘You can’t seriously mean that!’
‘What’s the alternative?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Panchenko. The words still groaned from him.
‘We can’t go on, always threatened like this,’ urged Kazin.
‘How!’
‘An accident.’
‘No!’
‘You did it before.’
‘Which is why I don’t think I can do it again.’
‘Disastrous,’ said Kazin.
‘What?’
‘Your word,’ reminded Kazin. ‘You said the continuing investigation could be disastrous. And it will be.’
Panchenko shuddered. Weakly he said: ‘I really don’t think I can. Not again! There must be some other way.’
‘There isn’t,’ insisted Kazin.
‘Mine is always the risk, never yours,’ protested Panchenko.
‘You’re trained, I’m not.’
‘It can’t be another shooting.’
‘I said an accident.’
‘When?’
‘Soon. It has to be soon. Before he has time to dig any deeper.’
‘The last time,’ said Panchenko, an insistence of his own.
‘There won’t again be the need,’ assured Kazin. And if there were Panchenko would have to obey whatever order he was given because he was not in a position to do anything else. Despite which, once Malik was out of the way, Kazin determined to disassociate himself from Panchenko. Not discard him, of course: appear to remain his
