not talk about the matter in front of her.
‘Sergeant Slivka is an experienced detective,’ he said, which wasn’t entirely true, ‘and, of course, discreet.’
‘Very good,’ Belakovsky said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘Your information is correct. About the affair. But it was in the past. Masha accompanied me on a delegation to America a couple of years back and one thing led to another. It didn’t last long but we remained friends. We continued to work closely together and there was no tension – ask anyone.’
‘And you were, of course, in Moscow at the time of her death.’
‘Yes,’ Belakovsky confirmed, his face lightening.
‘Excuse me for asking this, Comrade Belakovsky, but you’re married – isn’t that correct?’
‘Yes,’ Belakovsky said, shifting in his seat and looking at Slivka once again. ‘My wife isn’t aware of the relationship with Lenskaya and I’d like to keep it that way.’
‘Where’s your wife now?’
‘In Moscow. She works for the Industrial Procurement Agency. We have a daughter.’
‘I see. Of course, if your wife were to have known about it, that would have provided her with a motive.’
‘A motive to kill me, perhaps. Lenskaya wasn’t the first.’ Belakovsky seemed embarrassed. ‘That was one of the reasons I was glad when it ended. My wife believes in the necessity of a close-knit Soviet family. Who told you?’
‘It seems common knowledge,’ Korolev said.
‘Well, not to my wife. I’d have heard about it if she knew, believe me. Anyway, she was also in Moscow, it’s easily verifiable.’
‘We’ll check, discreetly of course. Now, tell me about the trip to America.’
Belakovsky’s thick eyebrows, which had drawn together in a frown while they’d discussed the dead girl, now twitched upwards and apart. The shadow of a smile suggested itself at the ends of his downturned mouth and despite the general gravity of his demeanour, it was clear the memory was a pleasant one.
‘America was most interesting. And Lenskaya was an invaluable asset to us in our efforts. She spoke English well – it was what decided us to take her, not anything else, believe me. Without her, we’d have ended up relying on translators with no technical expertise.’ He paused. ‘She’s a real loss to the industry and the Party.’
‘And the papers you wanted from her office?’
‘There’s a project arising from the American trip.’ For a moment Korolev thought he’d stop there, but Belakovsky after the slightest of hesitations continued. ‘It’s a project of great significance to the State and the Party. You’ve heard of Hollywood?’
‘Hollywood? Of course.’
‘Then you’ll know it’s an industrial town, Hollywood. You’ll have heard of the factory towns we’re building now. Everything devoted to one industry. Magnitorsk, for example – you’ve seen all about it on the newsreels, heard about it on the radio. What we’re doing for cars, for steel, for armaments – well, we’ll soon be doing the same for cinema. Similar to Hollywood, but not a Capitalist film factory – instead it will be built on Marxist-Leninist lines where the People will rule, not American robber barons. It will be a Soviet Hollywood – Kinograd. Two hundred films a year, all year round. And just along the coast from Odessa is the place for it.’
‘Kinograd?’
‘The same. Take my word for it, Korolev – we’ll be producing more films than Hollywood in ten years’ time. In many languages, not just Russian or even the other languages of the USSR. French, German, English – the workers of the world will demand to see them. Comrade Stalin himself approves. Lenskaya was a vital part of the planning stage – and her latest draft of the report for the Central Committee is missing. I have the previous version, but it’s a mystery as to where it could be.’
Korolev considered the possibility that a Hollywood gangster had been sent to kill Lenskaya and steal the Kinograd plans, and decided it was unlikely. But then, look at all the old Bolshevik revolutionaries and senior Party members they were uncovering as French and British spies and the like. Nothing could be ruled out these days, it seemed.
‘We’ll certainly look into it, Comrade Belakovsky,’ Korolev said, wondering if there was anything about this case that wasn’t political in some way or another. ‘Have you any questions, Slivka?’
‘Yes,’ Slivka said, looking down at the notebook she’d been writing in throughout the conversation. ‘Did anything unusual happen on the trip to America? Anything connected with Citizen Lenskaya perhaps?’
Belakovsky considered the question.
‘There was that rat, Danyluk. He defected in New York – before the boat home. He made life difficult for us on our return, I can tell you.’
‘A defector – and she knew this fellow?’ Korolev asked, thinking about Kolya.
‘Yes, a Ukrainian – the Ukrainfilm delegate, in fact. He defected to the Americans – there are plenty of Ukrainians in America, White Guards, Trotskyists and Petlyurists. They’re all there. We didn’t know what he was up to until he disappeared from the hotel, but he turned up soon enough in the American newspapers spreading lies about collectivization. I hope State Security track the traitor down and treat him as an enemy should be treated.’
Korolev glanced at Slivka, whose face revealed no surprise. Good for her, he thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Korolev and Slivka sat in silence.
‘What do you think?’ she asked after a while, her eyes turning to look out of the window. Troubled grey clouds rolled across the steppe towards them. Korolev wouldn’t be surprised if they saw snow again before the morning.
‘What do I think?’ he said, after having considered her question carefully. ‘I think this Danyluk fellow seems to fit in with Kolya’s story. I think Andreychuk being a Petlyurist fits in with his story too. The only question is does Lenskaya fit Kolya’s story. I wish I’d met the girl, then I might have a better idea of what kind of person she was – but look at her Party record. She was a loyal citizen and a committed socialist from the moment she entered the orphanage. What age was she then? Twelve? Could she really have just been waiting for an opportunity? She’d no contact with her father for fifteen years and, according to Belakovsky, Danyluk had almost no contact with her. Was she a traitor? I just don’t know.’
‘Kolya thinks she was,’ Slivka said, reaching into her pocket and producing a packet of cigarettes. ‘Maybe we should turn this over to Mushkin.’
‘No, not yet.’ Korolev considered what Rodinov’s reaction was likely to be if he denounced Ezhov’s lover as a spy. ‘We’ve nothing to back up the theory except a gangster’s story and a couple of coincidences. Let’s see what else we turn up before we go running to the Chekists.’
It was coming towards dusk as he made his way through the woods. Slivka had pointed out a path through the trees to where Savchenko was filming and Korolev followed it as it wound through the winter-stripped trees, their bare branches black against the last of the light. The famous director was expecting him and, after Belakovsky’s interview, Korolev wanted to find out what the famous director had to tell him.
Perhaps Korolev was a little distracted, his mind going backwards and forwards over the case, but at first the movement in the bushes to his left didn’t register. It was only when a flurry of snow was dislodged from a branch that he became conscious that this was not the first time he’d heard something from that direction. At first he thought it might be a small animal, a fox perhaps, but it would be odd for a fox to be tracking a human. Korolev stopped for a moment and looked over to where the sound had come from, but the wood was thick with scrub and brush and he could see nothing. He resumed his walk and there was another rustle of leaves, a little ahead of him now, although this time he didn’t stop but instead surreptitiously moved his Walther from under his armpit to his coat pocket and placed his thumb on the safety catch. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but after what Kolya had told him and Belakovsky’s story about the spy he was taking no chances. He maintained an even speed, conscious now that whoever or whatever had been moving in parallel and was now in front of him, but still invisible in the
