that it belonged to someone they knew or someone they paid to use it. It was not only possible, it was likely, but Karpo went through the motions of checking with the building director, a short man with a sagging belly who wore a workman's cap as he sat at a little desk in his office. The man was of no help and complained about the dwindling lack of respect for the party and the growing number of complaints and threats.
'You are a party member?' the man asked, though he knew the answer because he had seen Karpo's party membership card when he opened his wallet. 'It's almost a joke to be a party member,' the man complained. 'Pretty soon Gorbachev will be quitting the party and all of us who have been loyal will be lined up and shot.'
Karpo left while the man was still talking and walked back outside and onto Kalinin Prospekt, where he considered what he might do next. He could attempt to enlist aid from Colonel Snitkonoy, to persuade him to assign the necessary twenty to thirty men to go through the apartment building in search of Yakov and Jerold, but that would mean letting the Wolfhound know that he was pursuing the case. He would surely be told directly to leave Moscow. Besides, there was no guarantee they would find the two, who might already have left.
He checked his watch. He had all this afternoon and night and till midnight the next day. He could spend an hour or two watching the entrance before he began a random round of knocking on doors in the apartment building in the hope of finding someone who could lead him to the right apartment.
Karpo's finger throbbed, but not enough to challenge him or to be ignored. He moved through the people on the broad sidewalk and stood with folded arms under a lamppost. He did not buy a newspaper, nor did he watch the people who moved past him. He ignored the unusually high temperature and the humidity and waited, not an hour or two, but four hours, watching people enter and exit the apartment building. It was at the end of the fourth hour that he saw Jerold emerge and turn to his left.
Jerold did not go far. He found an outdoor table at the Metelista Cafe, one of the dozen tables covered with multicolored umbrellas to keep out the sun. There was a table close to the street, but Jerold chose one in the back and sat so that he could see the street.
Karpo approached carefully, waited till Jerold had ordered, and moved past one of the low, round yellow pots of summer flowers in front of the cafe. Karpo wanted to get close. He did not plan to shoot the man. On the contrary, he needed him to locate Krivonos, but if he had to shoot him, Karpo wanted to do it at close range so that he would not miss and no one in the afternoon crowd would be hurt.
Karpo moved carefully along the row of tables near the street, remaining in the shade of each, ignoring the diners at each table. It took him two minutes to get to the cover of the table nearest the man called Jerold.
Karpo considered the possibility that Krivonos might be joining him, but it seemed unlikely that they would come out separately, that they would exercise such caution while displaying such lack of it. Krivonos would need better cover.
With his right hand resting in front of him ready to reach into his holster for his gun, Karpo took the five steps across the rectangular pattern in the concrete and sat across from Jerold, who sipped a cup of coffee as he read a copy of Pravda he had pulled from his pocket.
'I've taken the liberty of ordering you tea and a Greek sweet,' Jerold said in slightly accented Russian as he put down his cup and folded his newspaper. 'I wasn't sure whether you or it would arrive first. I watched you from the window for more than two hours.'
'I am here to arrest you for your part in aiding the suspect Yakov Krivonos to leave the scene of a murder,' said Karpo. 'You are also charged with deadly assault against an officer of the Soviet Socialist Republics, unlawful entrance into the apartment of a Soviet citizen, and assault against that citizen. I need not, according to law, inform you of these charges at this time, but I wish you to know that the crimes of which you will be charged are quite serious and Soviet laws are applicable to all regardless of citizenship.'
'In short,' said Jerold, rubbing the bristles of his beard with the long finger of his left hand, 'you want something from me and you hope to get it by warning me of the consequences of what I have done?''
'' Precisely,' said Karpo.
'Ah, your tea and sweets,'' said Jerold. ' 'The service here has improved since economic reform. Now there is capitalist incentive to make money, right, Comrade?'
The question was directed at the young waiter, who placed before Karpo a small cup of tea and a plate on which sat a flaky pastry dripping with what may have been honey.
The waiter smiled and said, 'Yes, sir.'
'Profits are up with ownership if one owns a profit-making business,'' said Jerold. ' 'But with profit and ownership come a lack of control. Extortion is the new way of life. Prices rise. The Soviet Union, in the throes of economic reform, can find itself as corrupt as Nigeria. You don't mind my talking economics, do you, Inspector?'
'Krivonos,' said Karpo, his right hand on his lap, ready to reach for his weapon.
The waiter moved away.
'Well,' Jerold went on, 'before capitalistic ownership was introduced by your new leaders, people had a fixed income. It may have been low, but it was guaranteed regardless of hard times, regardless of good times. Granted, there was little incentive to work hard, to please customers and clients, and so we have learned to expect little from each other. But what happens to the shopowner, the farmer who is a sudden capitalist? Where does he sell his goods?
Before, the government took care of him. Now he is at the mercy of the market, and often, as in the case of the farmer, there is no one to sell to but the government. You see the problem?'
'I see many problems,' Karpo said, lifting the tea to his lips with his left hand, careful not to let his little finger exert pressure, his eyes never leaving the face of Jerold.
'Well, now the government, the consumer, can offer what they wish to the new capitalist,' Jerold said. 'A lifetime of security is gone. Freedom and capitalism bring with them insecurity, and our people have all lived their lives under the secure, though often frugal, protective arms of Mother Russia.'
'Our people,' said Karpo. 'You are a Soviet citizen?'
'I am…' and Jerold looked up seriously. 'I am an enigma.'' 'Blin called you,' said Karpo.
'No,' said Jerold. 'His young assistant, Buddy. Buddy's name is really Serge. He no longer wishes to be called Buddy. Buddy is a new Soviet capitalist. He sells his services to the highest bidder. He hopes to find economic security through his disloyalty.'
'Krivonos,' Karpo said, finishing his tea and putting the cup down gently as a pair of children, a boy and a girl, ran by screaming with what was probably delight.
'And if I don't tell you, you'll break my little finger?' Jerold said, holding up his left hand.
Karpo let his eyes move for just an instant to the raised hand and upraised finger, and he knew that he had made a mistake. Jerold's left hand rested on the table. His right hand was under the table.
'I have a gun in my lap,' said Jerold easily. 'A 9 mm Webley, very noisy. And I'm sure you now have a weapon in your hand. Do we shoot each other? Do I take a chance and shoot and hope to kill you before you respond? Do you do the same? Of course we can sit till a policeman happens by and you can call to him. I'll then have to shoot you and, if I'm still alive, kill the policeman. In any of the above situations, you will be no closer to Krivonos. Tell me, Inspector, even if it did mean you would get him, would it be worth your life?'' 'It is my duty,' said Karpo. 'If it costs me my life, then I will die in the course of my duty. If I value my life more highly than I value the meaning by which I live, then my life has no meaning.'
'Fascinating,' said Jerold. 'But what if your death serves no purpose? If by living you have the possibility of another opportunity, or opportunities, to serve the state, possibly even to find and apprehend Krivonos?''
'Man is capable of rationalizing any action, even inaction,' said Karpo.
'You know your Karl Marx,' said Jerold.
'I believe my Karl Marx,' said Karpo.
' 'Emil Karpo,'' said Jerold earnestly,' 'put your gun away, get up from this table, go home, pack your bag, and go on vacation.'
Before Karpo could answer, Jerold sighed and went on. 'But of course you can't get up and walk away or you'll be betraying your life. I admire your dedication, but in this strange new world you are a dodo bird. You will not survive unless you embrace pragmatism, and since you will not, you will not survive.'
Karpo anticipated the moment almost perfectly. He fell out of his chair to the left as Jerold fired. The white metal chair clattered to the ground. Jerold stood and fired again. The bullet hit the top of the table. People around them screamed. And Karpo, entangled in the chair, fired awkwardly at Jerold, who had moved into a crouch and
