The director of Special Investigation had made a deal, had gambled on the possibility of Pleshkov being in an even greater position of power in Russia. The Yak had given the politician freedom from jail in exchange for future considerations relating to the Yak’s ambition.
“I believe the statements,” said the Yak. “I suggest you do the same. The German could well have spied on Kisolev and discovered that he was a homosexual. The German could have assumed that Kisolev could borrow money from his friend Pleshkov. And our soccer coach, in a state of panic, showed an aggressive side of his nature that is normally hidden. His very future and present were at stake. The case is closed. You understand?”
“Yes,” said Iosef, holding out his hand.
The Yak gave him the transcript. “I have a new assignment for you,” he said. “Someone broke into the office of the United States Peace Corps. He or they took thirty thousand dollars and stayed to cook a ham, which they ate. There appear to be no clues and the MVD and State Security want no part of it. They see no gain in catching a fool, and they are sure of ridicule if they fail. I, on the other hand, have an instinct for such crimes. Chief Inspector Rostnikov will discuss it with you after I meet with him.”
“I’m to catch a ham thief?” said Iosef.
“Who also took thirty thousand dollars,” said the Yak.
“I am being punished,” said Iosef.
“No, you are being given an assignment.”
“I would like to offer. .” Iosef began.
“No,” said the Yak, still not looking up. “I want you to leave now, talk to the chief inspector, and then consider the offer you were about to make. Iosef Rostnikov, I have learned that our work follows a simple principle. We take one step forward and one step back. We are always in the same place we started. Our hope for success is to plan carefully, taking what we might be able to use, as we step forward and back in a simple two-step.”
Iosef nodded and left the office.
The Yak opened his desk drawer and removed the tape containing the voices of Pleshkov and the others telling what really had happened. He sat for the next hour making two copies, using the two tape recorders he kept in his desk. The copies would not be perfect but they would be clear enough. He would keep one copy in his desk and place the others in separate, safe places. While his office was reasonably secure, the Yak knew that someone in Petrovka could be bribed to break in when he was away and remove the tape from the desk drawer. The Yak almost welcomed the possibility. He began to imagine the conversation that would take place with Pleshkov. The Yak would produce another copy of the tape, and Pleshkov would be in a very awkward position from which the Yak would help him to escape. . at a price. But Pleshkov was probably too intelligent. He would realize that there would be other copies. He would not make that mistake. Still, he had been witness to other, even worse mistakes from people supposed to be intelligent and capable.
While the copies were being made, the Yak contemplated the future of Iosef Rostnikov. The young man would either be made aware of reality by his father or the Yak would have to find a way to transfer Iosef to another department.
Director Yaklovev had great confidence in Porfiry Petrovich’s powers of persuasion and his understanding of the need for compromise.
They had not yet cut Sarah’s hair. She lay in a bed in a prepara-tion room, waiting. There were no other patients in the room. Rostnikov sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand.
“What have they done so far?” asked Rostnikov.
“Tests. They put me on the machine. The same one as before, the one with the lights that hums. Leon and the surgeon are looking at the results.”
“I brought you something,” he said, taking out the triangular pastry with his free hand. “You can have it when you wake up after the surgery.”
“It looks good,” she said. “Hold on to it for me, Porfiry Petrovich.”
“I will,” he said.
“The last time we were in a hospital room,” she said, “a big naked man came in.”
“Yes,” said Rostnikov.
“You handled him perfectly,” she said. “I hadn’t seen you acting in your job before, except for the time when you were a uniformed officer and we ran into the two drunks on the street harassing a young woman. You were wonderful.”
“Thank you,” said Rostnikov.
“You know what I hate the most about this surgery?” asked Sarah.
“Yes,” he said. “The loss of your hair.”
“Yes,” she said. “And what do you hate most?”
“That I might lose you,” he said.
“You would survive, Porfiry Petrovich,” she said, patting his hand.
“Yes,” he said. “But it would be a lonely and less than meaningful survival. I am being selfish.”
“No,” Sarah said. “You are being honest. I. .”
The door opened and Leon came in holding an X ray.
“The growth is smaller,” he said. “Much smaller. The pressure on your brain is gone.”
Leon showed them the X ray.
“We have canceled the surgery,” he said. “We’ll keep checking you, but you can go home. This kind of spontaneous remission is uncommon but not unheard of.”
Sarah and Porfiry Petrovich looked at each other, stunned and only in the first stage of understanding what was happening.
“Could it come back?” Sarah asked.
“It could,” said Leon, “but the decrease in size in just a few days is remarkable. It could have been the blood thinner I gave you.”
“It could be a miracle,” Sarah said.
“I don’t believe in miracles,” said Leon. “You both deserve good news. I’m happy to be the one who brings it to you. How about a celebration? Would you like to come to a chamber music concert tonight? I think you might enjoy it. All Mozart.”
“I would very much like that,” said Rostnikov, smiling at Sarah and holding her delicate hand in both of his thick, heavy ones. “A celebration. But I have to attend a dogfight. There is, however, a chance that the dogfight will be over early. What time is your concert?”
“Ten,” said Leon.
“Perhaps I can do something to make the dogs decide to retire early so that we can make the concert.”
“I’d like that,” said Sarah, reaching for Leon’s hand.
He took it and Rostnikov could see that Leon was very much in love with his cousin. It was a condition that Porfiry Petrovich fully understood. He too loved Sarah very much. He would do his best to end the dogfight early.
Iosef knocked at the door of the apartment of Anna Timofeyeva. He had called Leon’s home in panic because he had not been at the hospital before his mother’s surgery. He had been talking to Yaklovev. When he had reached Leon, he had been told the good news.
“Shall I come there now?” Iosef had asked.
“Your mother is on her way home,” said Leon.
Iosef had expected the worst and had been feeling great guilt.
What if his mother had gone into surgery and not come back? But she was fine. Something, the most important thing, had gone well this day. Perhaps another thing would now go well.
The door was opened by Elena, who had her right arm in a sling.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” he said.
Elena stepped back to let him in. Anna Timofeyeva sat at the window, her cat, Baku, in her lap, her puzzle before her.
Elena closed the door.
“How are you?”
