it twenty or thirty times before Felix and Osip sold it to a Pravda editor for 250 rubles. Osip had, however, made a copy, which wasn't as good as the original but that
'Sit,' said the man behind the desk, breaking in on Osip's thoughts of the Emerald City.
The brothers sat on the two straight-backed wooden chairs facing the desk white the man behind it, his head down, continued to write on a pad of yellow paper. The man wrote for about five minutes, reread what he had written, gave the two men an icy look of appraisal, and then placed the yellow pad to the side of the desk.
'Do you know why you are here?' asked Khabolov.
'No, Comrade,' said Felix. 'We're just merchants, booksellers. We've witnessed no crime, committed no crime. We are honest citizens of the Soviet Union trying to make a living for'
Khabolov's hand went up and Felix stopped. Osip was filled with a sudden fear that he would be asked to speak and would be unable to do so. He was the frightened lion.
'We know all about you,' Khabolov said, looking over at his yellow pad. 'I plan personally to inventory your entire collection of tapes and machines.'
Osip couldn't help himself. A burst of fear let loose within him and released a loud sob. Felix looked at him angrily, but Osip could think only of prison, of his wife, daughter. Had he remained a simple bookseller, had he ignored mis brother who had always ordered him around, gotten him into trouble, he would be breathing normally nowpoor, but facing life.
Khabolov ignored the sobbing Gorgasali brother and looked at the older one with the white hair who might be pissing in his pants but was able to hold on to a facade of confused innocence. The two men before Khabolov were ripe. This same scene had worked well before, in Odessa with the typewriter thieves, and was working even better now.
'It was all my idea,' Felix said, his shoulders dropping, at the same instant his sobbing brother pointed to him and burst out with, 'It was all his idea.'
With mis, Felix instantly abandoned his ill-conceived moment of martyrdom, pointed at his brother, and shouted, 'He lies. He threatened me to take responsibility. He beat me. It was his doing. I tried to get out but'
'He tried,' Osip said sarcastically, looking at Deputy Procurator Khabolov for support and getting none. 'He forced my poor wife, my beautiful little daughter. Wait. I have a picture of my Natalya right here.'
Desperately, Osip fumbled in his pocket and came out with his wallet while Felix said, 'What does that prove? That proves nothing. He beats his wife and daughter.'
'I… never. I love them both. Here, here,' Osip cried, pushing his brother's restraining hand away and passing the wallet to the unsmiling man behind the desk.
Khabolov took the wallet, and Osip sat back with a small sense of frightened triumph.
'This is a very nice wallet. Canadian,' said Khabolov.
'Canadian, yes,' said Osip. 'A gift to me from an old friend. I'd like to make it a gift to you for your kindness, your understanding.'
Felix snorted in disgust and put his head down as Khabolov threw the wallet back to Osip.
'Are you attempting to bribe an officer of the state?' Khabolov said, fixing his eyes on Osip, who was now completely panicked, without any sense of response or direction. All he could do was shake his head no as he clutched the wallet to his stomach with both hands. Osip looked to his older brother for help, but Felix was looking at the floor, defeated.
'Comrades,' Khabolov said, 'I want you to do some-flung.'
Osip didn't hear the words. He simply sobbed and clutched his wallet, but Felix lifted his eyes at the words of the deputy procurator.
'Anything,' said Felix.
'I want you to do some work for me in an investigation. I want the two of you to take part in a long-term government investigation of illegal marketing of videotapes and machines,' said Khabolov, meeting Felix's eyes. There was an electric instant of understanding, and Felix sat up with new hope.
'We would be honored to help in any way we could serve the state, Comrade Procurator,' Felix said over his brother's sobbing.
'Good,' said Khabolov. 'Your entire inventory will be taken over by the state. You will be permitted to continue to operate and keep a reasonable percentage of your profits. Let us say…'
'Seventy-five percent,' said Felix, reaching over and digging his nails into his brother's calf to shut bun up.
'Forty percent,' said Khabolov.
'Forty percent,' agreed Felix.
'You will report directly to me, deal directly with me,' said Khabolov. 'You will never return here again. All contact will be made through me or my son, Andreyev, who will take reports on all of your customers and all transactions. It will be necessary from time to time for us to confiscate certain pieces of equipment and tapes that Andreyev or I will select for investigatory purposes.'
'Our inventory is small,' said Felix with a sigh.
Osip had stopped sobbing and was beginning to realize that the nature of the conversation had changed, that Felix was sounding like himself, that some kind of deal was being made.
'It will have to sustain itself if you and your brother are to remain a useful part of the undercover operation I am planning.'
Which meant, Felix understood, that as long as he and Osip supplied the deputy procurator with all the free video equipment and tapes that he wanted and made him their senior partner they would remain free and in business. The price was high, but the alternative was prison, possibly even execution, and certainly poverty. Besides, the protection of the deputy procurator might be very comforting.
'We will do exactly as you say,' said Felix.
'Exactly,' echoed Osip as Felix reached over to tug at his brother's sleeve.
'Good,' said Khabolov, with what may have been a slight smile. 'Your patriotism will be rewarded. Perhaps there will even be a medal awarded at the end of this investigation, though, I must tell you, it looks as if the investigation may turn out to be a very long one.'
'Whatever we must do to serve the state and the people will be done.' Felix sighed.
Osip's sobs had departed, first replaced by a bland, open-mouthed incredulity and then by a slight, hopeful smile, as his eyes darted from his brother to the deputy procurator and up at Lenin, who did not look down from the picture behind the desk.
Felix did not smile. The terms had been made clear. Osip and Felix would continue to operate as long as it was safe for Khabolov. At the first sign of trouble, the deputy procurator would produce whatever doctored records he had prepared showing mat he had conducted a patriotic investigation of their black market operation. He would turn in those whom it was safe to turn hi and deny any allegations of payments in equipment or money from the lying black marketers, who would certainly be imprisoned, if they were lucky enough to make it to prison. Still, thought Felix, it was better than what they could be facing.
Being a Muscovite was dangerous at best. Better to be a wealthy Muscovite on the brink of disaster than a poor one.
'My son will be in touch soon,' said Khabolov without rising, as he pulled the yellow pad back in front of him. 'You are dismissed, Comrades, with the thanks of the state for your zeal in volunteering to serve.'
'We are very honored…' Osip began as he rose, but Felix stopped him with a squeeze of the arm and led him out the door.
In the hall with the door closed behind them, Felix looked around to see if anyone could see them. When he was sure it was safe, he sagged against the wall and began shivering.
'We're safe,' whispered Osip with a laugh. 'Safe.'
Felix looked at his brother, wanted to tell him how safe they really were, wanted to remind him that brother had denounced brother only moments ago, but he did not have the strength.
'Safe,' he said, pushing himself away from the wall as two women in dark suits came around a corner talking and looking at them.
Felix moved on shaky legs to the elevator door with Osip at his side wanting to talk, celebrate. Felix didn't hear what Osip was saying. He looked back at the door to Khabolov's office, praying that it wouldn't open, that the deputy procurator would not come out, change his mind, ship them across Moscow to Lubyanka. When the elevator
