suspicious about the truck or its driver?”
“No. It was just a big truck, like you see on the Moscow Highway every day. The driver even knew Maximov.”
“Knew him?”
Gorenko nodded. “I saw the two of them talking together after the tank had been loaded on board. It didn’t seem unusual to me. They are both drivers of one sort or another. I assumed they must have gotten to know each other the same way that professors become acquainted through their work, even if they live at opposite ends of the country.”
“This truck,” said Pekkala, “was it a flatbed or a container?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.”
“Did the tank sit on a platform at the back or was it inside a cargo area?”
“Oh, I see. Yes. It was a container. A large metal container big enough to hold the tank.”
“How did the driver get the tank into the container?”
“He drove it in himself. I showed the man how to operate the T-34’s gears and pedals. It only took him a minute to get the hang of it. Anyone who knows how to operate a tractor or a bulldozer is already familiar with the principles. Then he rolled the tank up a ramp and into the container.”
“And the container was sealed?”
“Yes, with two large metal doors.”
“What did this container look like?”
“It was painted red, with the State Transport Commission letters painted in green on the side.”
Like almost every other container on the highway, thought Pekkala. “And the driver? What did he look like?”
“Short, heavyset. Mustache.” Gorenko shrugged. “He seemed friendly enough.”
“Have you spoken to Maximov about this? Perhaps he knows how to reach the man.”
“I tried to, but he was too drunk to make any sense.”
“Fetch me a bucket of water,” said Pekkala.
FOR A MOMENT, THE RAGGED SILVER ARC SEEMED TO HANG SUSPENDED over the sleeping Maximov. Then the water shattered on his face, as if it were a pane of glass. Maximov sat bolt upright, spewing a mouthful of water from between his puckered lips.
Pekkala tossed the bucket to the other side of the room, where it rolled, clattering loudly into the corner.
“Mudak!” shouted Maximov. He doubled over, coughing, then swiped the water from his eyes and glared at Pekkala. “I thought you were going to let me sleep!”
“I was,” replied Pekkala, “but now I need you to tell me something.”
“What?”
“What is the name of the driver who picked up the tank from this facility?”
“How should I know?” groaned Maximov, smoothing the hair back on his head.
“You knew the driver. Gorenko saw you talking.”
“He was asking me directions. That’s all. Why?”
“The tank has not arrived in Stalingrad.”
“Then perhaps he is a very slow driver.” Maximov ran his hand over his mouth. “What’s the matter, Pekkala? Has your sorcery failed you at last?”
“Sorcery?” Pekkala crouched down in front of the big man. “There never was any sorcery, Maximov, but I’ve been in this job long enough to know when I’m being lied to. I see the way your back straightened when I mentioned that the tank had disappeared. I see your eyes drifting up and to the right when you are talking to me now. I see you covering your mouth, and I can read those signs like you can tell when it will rain by looking at the clouds. So tell me: Who has that machine and where have they taken it? You don’t want this on your conscience.”
“Conscience!” spat Maximov. “You’re the one who needs to search his conscience! You took an oath to serve the Tsar. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that oath no longer applies.”
“You’re right,” agreed Pekkala. “I did take an oath, and what I swore to do I’m doing now.”
“Then I pity you, Pekkala, because while you’re wasting your time talking to me, an old friend of yours is deciding the fate of this country.”
“You must be mistaken,” said Pekkala. “All of my old friends are dead.”
“Not this one!” laughed Maximov. “Not Alexander Kropotkin.”
Pekkala saw again the wide jaw, the strong teeth clenched in a smile and shoulders hunched like a bear. “No,” whispered Pekkala. “That’s impossible. He just asked me for a job in the police.”
“Asking for a job? No, Pekkala—he was offering you a chance to work with
It took a moment for Maximov’s words to sink in. “The Guild?”
“That’s right. But he said the Communists had gotten to you. The incorruptible Emerald Eye had finally been corrupted!”
Now, as Pekkala recalled the words of his last conversation with Kropotkin, it all began to turn around inside his brain. He had utterly misunderstood. “How did you find Kropotkin?”
“I didn’t,” replied Maximov. “He found me. Kropotkin was the one who figured out that the White Guild was just a front for luring Stalin’s enemies to their deaths. He decided to turn the White Guild against the Communists.”
“And it was you who killed those agents, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and he ordered me to kill you as well. I would have, if Bruno hadn’t gotten in the way.”
“That was you, outside the Cafe Tilsit. But why?”
“Kropotkin had decided to give you one more chance to join us. Every day he waited at that cafe, knowing you’d show up eventually. When you turned him down, he made a call to me. I drove to the cafe on a motorcycle. When I saw you lying on the ground, I thought I’d killed you. It was only later that I found out you were still alive. From the apartments of the agents we killed, we managed to steal enough weapons and ammunition to keep us supplied for months. We even got our hands on a brand-new German motorcycle which one of the agents had parked in the middle of his living room! That’s the one I was riding when I took a shot at you. Then Kropotkin came up with the idea of stealing a T-34. By the time you people figured out what happened, it would already be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To stop the war we are about to declare.”
Pekkala was wondering whether Maximov had gone completely insane. “You might have been able to murder some government agents, but do you really think the White Guild can overthrow this country?”
“No,” replied Maximov, “but Germany can. They are looking for any excuse to invade us. All we have to do is offer them a reason. And what better reason than an attack across the Polish border by the Soviet Union’s newest, most devastating weapon? If we strike Poland, the Germans will see it as an act of aggression against the West. That is all the reason they need.”
“How much damage do you think could be done by a single tank?”
“Kropotkin has chosen a place where the Poles have nothing but cavalry units on their border with us. One tank could wipe out an entire brigade.”
“But don’t you realize what the Nazis will do to this country if they invade? We are not prepared to defend ourselves.”
“Kropotkin says that the quicker we are defeated, the less bloodshed there will be.”
“That’s a lie, Maximov! You may have taken an oath to the Tsar, but do you honestly think this is what he would have wanted? You will have unleashed a thing you can’t control. The Germans won’t just overthrow the Communists. They will turn this place into a wasteland.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“But Kropotkin does! You might think that you’re both fighting for the same cause, but I have known Kropotkin for a long time and I have seen his kind before. His only cause is vengeance for a world that no longer
