“Thank you,” said Pekkala and he headed off down the road towards the facility. A minute later, when he looked back, Pekkala could see the guard back on his stool, sitting by the fire, poking the flames with a stick.
With only a couple of hours before sunrise, Pekkala arrived at the muddy central yard of the facility. He found Maximov’s car parked outside the mess hut, where workers at the facility took their meals. The door was open. Inside, Pekkala discovered Maximov passed out on the floor, mouth open, breathing heavily. He nudged Maximov’s foot with the toe of his boot.
“Stop it,” muttered Maximov. “Leave me alone.”
“Wake up,” said Pekkala.
“I told you …” Maximov sat up. His head swung in a wobbly arc until he caught sight of Pekkala. “You!” he said. “What do you want?”
“Yelena Nagorski sent for me. She said you had been causing trouble.”
“I wasn’t causing trouble,” protested Maximov. “I love her. And I care for her son!”
“You have a strange way of showing it, Maximov.”
Maximov looked blearily around the room. “I might have said some things I shouldn’t have.”
Pekkala set his boot against Maximov’s chest. Gently he pushed the man over. “Leave Mrs. Nagorski alone.”
Maximov settled back onto the floor with a soft thump. “I love her,” he muttered again.
“Go back to your dreams,” said Pekkala, “while I borrow your car for a while.”
But Maximov had already fallen asleep.
Pekkala removed the keys from Maximov’s pocket and had just settled himself in the driver’s seat of Maximov’s car when a door opened in the Iron House and a man ran out towards him.
It was Gorenko. “Inspector? Is that you? I must speak with you, Inspector! I’ve done a terrible thing! Ushinsky showed up for work just after you and I spoke the other day. When he found out that one of our T-34’s had been sent to the factory for production, he practically went insane. It’s just as I told you he would. He said the prototype wasn’t ready and that we might as well deliver it to the Germans! I tried calling you, Inspector. I wanted you to speak to him, just like we had discussed, but there was no answer at your office, so I called Major Lysenkova instead. I told her what was happening. I said I just needed someone to talk some sense into him. Now I hear he’s been arrested. They’re holding him at the Lubyanka! Inspector, you’ve got to help him.”
Pekkala had been listening in teeth-clenched silence, but now he finally exploded. “What did you think was going to happen when you called Major Lysenkova?” he shouted. “Nagorski sheltered you from these people when he was alive, because he knew what they were capable of. You’ve been living in a bubble, Professor, out here at this facility. You don’t understand. These people are dangerous, even more dangerous than the weapons you’ve been building for them!”
“I was at my wit’s end with Ushinsky,” protested Gorenko, wringing his hands. “I just wanted someone to talk to him.”
“Well, someone has,” said Pekkala, “and now I’ve done all I can for your colleague.”
“There is something else, Inspector. Something I don’t understand.”
Pekkala turned the key in the ignition. “It will have to wait!” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
Gorenko raised his arms in a gesture of exasperation. Then he turned and walked back into the Iron House.
Pekkala wheeled the car around and drove towards the Nagorski house. As he raced along the muddy road, he wondered again what would become of Yelena and Konstantin now that the T-34 project was completed. Neither of them seemed prepared for the world beyond the gates of this facility. It’s too bad Maximov made such a fool of himself this evening, thought Pekkala. From what he knew about the man, Maximov might have made a good companion for Yelena and a decent father figure for the boy.
He was lost in these thoughts when suddenly he heard a loud snap and something struck the windshield. His first thought was that a bird had flown into it. This time of night, he told himself, it must have been owl. Cool air whistled in through the cracked glass. Pekkala was just debating whether to drive on or to pull over when the entire windshield exploded. Glass blew all over the inside of the driving compartment. He felt shards bouncing off his coat and a sharp pain in his cheek as a sliver embedded itself in his skin.
He did not realize he was losing control of the car until it was too late. The back wheels slewed, then the whole car spun in a roar of kicked-up grit and mud. There was a stunning slam, his head struck the side window, and suddenly everything became quiet.
Pekkala realized he was in the ditch. The car was facing the opposite direction from which he had been driving. Opening the door, he fell out into the wet grass. For a moment, he remained there on his hands and knees, not sure if he could stand, trying to get clear in his head what had happened. He was dizzy from the knock to his head, but he did not think he had been badly hurt. Slowly, he clambered to his feet. Upright, but on shaky legs, he slumped back against the side of the car.
Then he noticed someone standing in the road. All he could see was the silhouette of a man. “Who’s there?” he asked.
“You should have left when you could,” said the silhouette.
The voice was familiar, but Pekkala could not place it.
Then, out of the black, came the flash of a gunshot.
In that same instant, Pekkala heard the clank of a bullet striking the car door beside him.
“I warned you, Maximov!”
“I’m not Maximov!” shouted Pekkala.
The shadow walked towards him. It stood at the edge of the ditch, looking down at Pekkala. “Then who are you?”
Now Pekkala placed the voice. “Konstantin,” he said, “it’s me. Inspector Pekkala.”
The two were close enough now that Pekkala could make out the boy’s face and the pistol aimed at his chest.
From the short barrel with its slightly rounded end and the angled trigger guard joining the barrel at the front like the web of a man’s thumb, Pekkala recognized the weapon they’d been searching for. It was Nagorski’s PPK. In that moment, the truth came crashing down upon Pekkala. “What have you done, Konstantin?” he stammered as he climbed up out of the ditch.
“I thought you were Maximov. I saw his car …”
“I am talking about your father!” snarled Pekkala. He pointed at the PPK, still gripped in Konstantin’s fist. “We know that’s the weapon which was used to kill Colonel Nagorski. Why did you do it, Konstantin?”
For what seemed like a long time, the boy did not reply.
Their breathing fogged the air between them.
Slowly, Pekkala held out his hand. “Son,” he said, “there is nowhere you can go.”
Hearing these words, Konstantin’s eyes filled with tears. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed the PPK upon Pekkala’s open hand.
Pekkala’s fingers closed around the metal. “Why did you do it?” he repeated.
“Because it was his fault,” said Konstantin. “At least, I thought it was.”
“What happened on that day?”
“It was my birthday. The week before, when my father asked me what I wanted, I told him I would like a ride in the tank. At first he said it was impossible. My mother would never allow it. But then he said that if I promised not to tell her, he would take me out in the machine, out into the proving ground. My mother thought he had forgotten about the birthday altogether. They started arguing. By then, I almost didn’t care.”
“Why not?” asked Pekkala.
“Maximov sent me a letter. A letter in a birthday card.”
“What did the letter say?”
“He told me that my parents were splitting up. He said he thought I should know, because they weren’t going to tell me themselves.”
“They were going to tell you,” said Pekkala, “as soon as you moved back to Moscow. It was for the best, Konstantin. Besides, this was none of Maximov’s business. And why would he tell you on your birthday?”
“I don’t know,” replied Konstantin. “For news like that, one day is as bad as another.”
“Do you still have that letter?”
