with this information? Never. I don’t want the police to start looking into my businesses. No, I would go to a man I know, a man so much worse than you and your friend that any comparison would be comic. This man, to whom I would pay a great deal of money, would gather his friends and they would find you. They would find you, cut off your heads, and bring them to me.”
The man on the chair had opened his mouth slightly, using what imagination he had to conjure the image of someone awkwardly chopping his head from his body.
“But,” said Alexei, “that will not happen, because Solovyov must kill me. I know that. You know that. Am I right?”
Boris did not answer.
“I’m right,” said Alexei with a resigned sigh. “He will kill me and then he will kill you, Boris.”
The man in the chair looked as if he was going to speak and then thought better of it.
“He will kill you because you will know that he is a kidnapper and a murderer,” said Alexei. “He will kill you because he thinks you are too stupid to keep your mouth shut. He will kill you because if you are dead, he need not pay you or worry about you. It takes only a small brain, perhaps the size of a crow, to know that what I’m saying is true.”
“I’m not stupid,” said the man with the gun.
Alexei shrugged and looked at a neutral wall.
“I have thought about these things”-Boris was lying-“I know how to take care of myself.”
“How?” said Alexei, turning back to his captor.
“I know how to be careful,” the man said. “Artiom is my friend. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“The woman might tell him to,” Alexei said. “Does he talk about her? Don’t you know he’ll do whatever she tells him? Don’t you know that he is only a little smarter than you?”
The man in the chair blinked and put one hand to his forehead.
“No more talking,” the man said.
“Of course,” Alexei said. “You need to think. But you had better think quickly. Once Artiom comes back, it may be too late.”
Boris stood up, gun in hand.
“No more talking,” he said.
Alexei held up his hands and said, “Fine. No more talking. There are ways out of this for you, but if you say no more talking-”
“What ways out?” demanded the man.
“You take me away from this apartment, someplace where I can make a call to that friend I told you about.” Alexei was whispering rapidly. “My friend finds Artiom and kills him. You still have me. I call my brother and tell him to deliver a sizable sum of money to a place of your choice. It will be a great deal of money for you. A small amount to me.”
“And then you have me killed,” the man said.
“Why?” asked Alexei, showing the empty palms of his hands. “You know what will save you? Your stupidity and insignificance. You aren’t worth my time. I have others to deal with, others who set this up with your friend, Artiom, who plans to kill you.”
“Where could I take you?” asked the man softly.
Alexei forced himself not to smile, though he doubted if a smile could be recognized on his purple, broken face.
“I know of such a place,” he said. “An apartment I keep for a young lady. You understand. She is in the countryside now visiting her grandparents.”
“I …” the man began.
“You’ll have to decide now,” said Alexei. “If Artiom comes through that door before we leave, we are both dead men.”
The man with the gun was pacing the floor now. It was Alexei who was sitting.
“I don’t know,” Boris said, running his hand over his head. “I can’t think it through.”
“It is really very simple and clear,” said Alexei. “We leave here and live, and you walk about safely with more money than you had been promised by Artiom, far more. You can either leave Moscow or stay. Artiom Solovyov will no longer be among the living.”
The man with the gun kept pacing, but Alexei sat back, relaxed. He knew that if Solovyov did not enter the room in the next few minutes, Boris would give in. Alexei knew that if time was just a bit kind to him, he would succeed.
Natalya Dokorova wore a plain black mourning dress with long sleeves. It was not new. Rostnikov suspected that the old woman wore black even when she had not lost a relative. The Wolfhound had left early for a reception for the French ambassador, and Rostnikov had bullied Pankov into letting him use the colonel’s office for the interrogations.
“I will take full responsibility,” Rostnikov had told the little man. “Why don’t you try to find the colonel? I’ll be happy to explain the situation to him.”
“He did not want to be disturbed unless it was an emergency,” Pankov said.
“Does sitting at the table in his office constitute an emergency?” Rostnikov asked.
Pankov sat thinking. “First thing in the morning,” he said, “you must be here to tell the colonel what you have done and that you did not listen to me when I told you not to do this.”
“First thing in the morning,” Rostnikov had said.
And now they sat around the table. Rostnikov on one side. Craig Hamilton on his left. Elena Timofeyeva on his right. Across from them sat Natalya Dokorova. The tribunal had begun.
“First,” Rostnikov said, “I am sorry for the loss of your brother.”
Natalya nodded.
“Second,” Rostnikov went on, “I am responsible for recovering the items that were stolen from your house.”
“They are mine,” she said, back straight, looking at Elena.
“That is an issue that can be addressed when we have the items,” said Rostnikov. “First we find them. Then we discuss who owns them. That, however, is not a decision for me to make. I have something for you.”
Rostnikov leaned over. When he sat upright, there was a flower in his hand. He looked at it for a moment and then reached over and handed it to Natalya Dokorova, who took it and sat back in total confusion. Rostnikov could see from the bewildered look on her face that no one had ever given her a flower before. She placed it on her lap with her right hand over it as if to keep it from fleeing.
“I burned everything,” said Natalya Dokorova.
“No,” said Rostnikov, “you did not.”
“I …” she began, but Rostnikov raised a hand to silence her.
“Guards from two different jurisdictions on each of the doors,” Rostnikov said. “Ground floor is solid. Insufficient space in the walls to hide much. Distance to the buildings on either side too far to run a ladder or a plank, and even if it could be done, the noise would clearly draw the attention of the guards. Someone suggested a helicopter on the roof. Too much noise. Conclusion?”
Natalya sat silently now, clutching her flower.
“Show her,” said Rostnikov with a sigh.
Elena reached under the table and came up with a piece of dark wood. She placed the piece of wood carefully on the table so as not to scratch its surface. Natalya looked at the wood.
“Can you tell us what this is?”
“It looks like the leg of a chair,” she said. “Or a table.”
“Found in your garbage,” Rostnikov said. “A number of pieces of burned furniture were found in your garbage and the closets of your house. Why are you burning and hiding broken furniture? The furniture in your closets and garbage has no great value.”
“I am eccentric,” the old woman said.
Rostnikov nodded at Elena, who said, “Natalya, you spent the night burning cheap furniture to give the impression that you were destroying your brother’s collection. I don’t believe you could destroy any of the items your brother had collected. You told me that the chairs in your parlor once belonged to Catherine the Great. We
