corners of his mouth drooped forbiddingly. “He's going to see me, recognize me….” Victor looked away so as not to give himself away, but curiosity won out: he stared at him. No, Adam didn't look like a “slave” now — that was a confident, strong, and decisive man. A memory floated up of a disheveled head against a background of dusky wallpaper, eyes wide with hatred, and a ten — pound iron dumbbell raised over his face.
The arrival walked on past him. “Of course, how could he recognize me?” Kravets sighed in relief. “But why is he back? What does he want?”
He watched the man disappear into the crowd. “Maybe I should catch up with him and tell him what happened? All the help that… No. Who knows why he's here.” He was overwhelmed with despair again. “This is where all outwork and experiments have led. Damn it! We're afraid of each other. Wait… that is the other variant! But will it help?” Victor bit his lip, thinking hard.
Adam had disappeared.
“Well, enough self — torture!” Kravets said, shaking his head. “This isn't my work alone. And I can't escape — the work must be saved.”
He pulled out the change from his pocket, counted it, swallowed a hungry gulp, and went into the post office.
He just had enough to pay for a short telegram: MOSCOW, MOSCOW STATE U., BIOLOGY DEPT. TO KRIVOSHEIN. FLY OUT IMMEDIATELY. VALENTIN.
He sent the telegram and went out on the street. He turned down a street that led to the Institute of Systemology. After a few steps he turned to see if anyone was following him. The street was empty, and the only person watching was the pretty woman with the bankbook in the brightly lit ad on the department store that said, “Save your money at the bank” in foot — high letters. Her eyes promised to love anyone who saved.
The sign over the administrator's window in the House of the Collective Farmer read:
Room for a man — 60 kopeks.
Room for a horse — 1 ruble 20 kopeks.
The man who had arrived from Vladivostok sighed and handed his passport through the window. “Give me a sixty — kopek room, please.”
Chapter 4
The impossible is impossible. For instance, it is impossible to move faster than the speed of light. But even if it were possible, would it be worth the trouble? After all, no one could see it to appreciate it.
The next morning the officer on duty in the city department handed Investigator Onisimov the report of the policeman on guard at the sealed laboratory. It stated that during the night, approximately between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M., an unknown man in a white shirt attempted to enter the lab through a window. The policeman's shout scared him off into the park.
“I see!” Matvei Apollonovich rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Returning to the scene of the crime….”
Yesterday he had sent notice to citizen Azarov and to citizen Kolomiets. Matvei Apollonovich wasn't really counting on the academician's showing up in his office — but the stub of the notice would be handy to have around. Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets, an engineer at a construction design bureau near the Systemology Institute, showed up promptly at ten.
When she entered his office, Hilobok's wavy hand gestures came to mind; she was a beautiful woman. “Isn't she just fine?” thought Onisimov. Any single feature of Elena Ivanovna's, taken out of context, was ordinary — her dark hair was like any hair, and her nose was only a nose (perhaps even too upturned), and the oval of her face was just an oval — but together they created such a harmonious picture, a picture that needed no analysis but simply called to be enjoyed and remarked upon as an example of nature's great sense of proportion.
Matvei Apollonovich remembered what the late Krivoshein had looked like and he experienced typical male envy. “Hilobok was right; he's no match for her. What did she see in him? Was she looking for security? A husband with a good income?” Like most men whose looks and age left little hope of romantic conquest, Onisimov had a low opinion of beautiful women.
“Please be seated. You are familiar with the name Valentin Vasilyevich Krivoshein?”
“Yes.” She had a throaty, mellifluous voice.
“How about Victor Vitalyevich Kravets?”
“Vitya? Yes.” Elena Ivanovna smiled, showing her even teeth. “I didn't know his father's name was Vitaly, though. What's the matter?”
“What can you tell me about the relationship between Krivoshein and Kravets?”
“Well… they worked together. Victor, I think, is a distant relative of Valya… I mean, Krivoshein. I think they were good friends. What's happened?”
“Elena Ivanovna, I'll ask the questions.” Onisimov figured that she would reveal more if she were emotionally off balance, and he was in no hurry to clear up the situation. “Is it true that you and Krivoshein were close?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you stop seeing him?”
Elena Ivanovna's eyes became cold, and a blush came and went from her cheeks.
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“And how would you know what does and what doesn't have to do with this?” Matvei Apollonovich perked up.
“Because… because this can't have anything to do with anything. We broke up and that's all.”
“I see… all right. We'll come back to that later. Tell me, where did Kravets live?”
“In a dormitory for young specialists in Academic Town, like all the probation workers.”
“Why didn't he live with Krivoshein?”
“I don't know. Apparently they both preferred it that way.”
“Despite the fact that they were friends and relatives? I see. And how did Kravets behave with you? Did he court you?” Matvei Apollonovich was milking his version for all it was worth.
“He did….” Elena Ivanovna bit her lip. But she couldn't control her tongue. “I think you'd do the same if I let you.”
“Aha, so you let him, eh? Tell me, was Krivoshein jealous of Kravets and you?”
“Perhaps, he was… but I don't understand what all this is about.” The woman looked at the investigator with great hostility. “All these innuendos! What happened, will you please tell me?”
“Calm yourself, citizen!”
Maybe I should tell her? Should I? Is she involved? She is beautiful, and a man could really fall for her, but… it's the wrong milieu for serious sexual crimes. The statistics are against it. A scientist wouldn't lose his head over a woman… but Kravets….
The telephone interrupted Onisimov's ruminations. He picked it up.
“Onisimov here.”
“We've found him, comrade captain!” the operative announced. “Do you want to participate?”
“Of course!”
“We'll wait for you at the airport, car license plate 57–28 DNA.”
“I see!” The investigator stood and looked merrily at Kolomiets. “We'll finish this little talk another time, Elena Ivanovna. Let me sign your pass. Don't be upset, and don't be mad: it's nerves — we're all like that, you and I, included….” “But what happened?”
“We're investigating. I can say no more for now. Good day!” Onisimov walked her out, then got his gun from the desk drawer, locked the room, and hurried, almost at a run, to the parking lot.
The snow white IL jet taxied up to the terminal exactly at 13:00. A light blue, elevated companion stairway
