“You and your family live well,” said Rostnikov, ignoring the observation.
“What?” said Alexi, even more bewildered.
“Your father did not have much money. You do not earn much money. Your sister’s salary is more pitiful than a policeman’s, and your mother comes from a poor family.”
“What has that …?” Alexi began.
“Your father got the money by blackmailing important officials involved in corruption in nuclear production,” came the voice at Alexi’s right.
Alexi turned to the technician, the scientist who looked more mad than Alexi felt.
“Rumor, a word here and there,” said Paulinin. “Gossip in the halls of meetings of scientists. I seldom go to such things. The pompous asses there make me bilious.”
“Give us the names and tell us where the evidence is against these people,” said Rostnikov. “That will accomplish more than what you plan.”
“If I do that, my mother and sister will be reduced to poverty,” he said.
“Then,” said Rostnikov, sitting back in his chair with a deep sigh, “you are a hypocrite.”
“You are in no position to call me names,” said Alexi. “You’re twisting things.”
“I am giving you the opportunity to live and provide that life with a meaningful act against those who abuse the very creation you are willing to kill for. I am giving you the opportunity to speak out at a public trial where the criminals your father confronted can be denounced,” said Rostnikov. “Would you like to see my artificial leg?”
“What?” asked Alexi, sitting back in complete confusion.
“I’m reaching down for it,” said Rostnikov. “Don’t panic. I’m not reaching for a weapon. If it were simply a matter of shooting you and taking our chances, Inspector Karpo, to your left, would have done so minutes ago. Ah, here.”
Rostnikov put his prosthetic leg on the desk. It made a clunking sound.
“Marvel of science,” said Rostnikov, admiring the leg. “Prosthetics. They’re improving them all the time.”
“Made by people with no knowledge of human anatomy,” said Paulinin with disgust.
Alexi was in total confusion as he looked at the leg on the table before him. No one in the room seemed the least bit afraid except Alexi, who now believed that he might well not be dying.
“I don’t want to see your wooden leg,” Alexi said, staring right at the prosthesis.
“It’s not just wood,” said Rostnikov. “It has, in fact, almost no wood. It is metal and plastic. The plastic, as you can see, is made to somewhat approximate the color of human skin, but what is the point of that, I ask you? Anyone looking at it can see it is artificial. I believe in facing the truth, Alexi Monochov.”
As the bomber continued to stare in fascination, Paulinin made a gesture to Karpo. He mimed putting his hand in his pocket. Karpo’s nod was so slight that only the scientist caught it. Rostnikov’s eyes were looking at the artificial part of his anatomy.
Alexi was hypnotized by the leg before him, confused by the apparent fact that he was not going to die. This was going all wrong.
“No,” he said, sitting down. “No more talk.”
“The photograph,” Paulinin said.
“Ah, yes, the photograph,” said Rostnikov. “I think this will interest you.”
Rostnikov pulled an eight-by-ten out of his drawer and reached over his artificial leg to place the photo face-down in front of the perplexed bomber.
“You are all crazy,” said Alexi.
“You don’t include yourself?” asked Rostnikov.
“I … I … It doesn’t matter.”
Alexi took his hand out of his pocket and reached for the photograph. The next instant was a sudden shock. Something grabbed his left hand as he reached forward. Then there was pain up his right arm as it was pulled behind him.
Karpo ignored the detonator button in Alexi’s right hand and put the confused man in handcuffs behind his back while Paulinin reached into Alexi’s left pocket and came up with a small black plastic box the size of a key- chain flashlight with a black button. Paulinin smiled in triumph and unstrapped the explosives from Alexi Monochov’s body. Alexi didn’t struggle, but Karpo still pressed down, holding him in place. Paulinin continued to search Alexi and then said, “Nothing.”
Rostnikov nodded.
“I assume I may have all this for further study,” asked Paulinin, examining the explosive loot in his hands as he moved away from Alexi to his chair.
“Of course,” said Rostnikov.
“How did you know?” asked Alexi, looking at Rostnikov.
“I had no idea,” said Rostnikov. “It was Technician Paulinin. My hope was to persuade you with the truth, Alexi. You are not dying or even seriously ill. My hope was to get you to give us the names and the evidence your father had collected. That was my hope, that and your fear of dying once you knew you were not ill. That and the opportunity in open court to make whatever kind of political or environmental statement you might choose. I don’t think you would have pushed that button. But, just in case, Technician Paulinin was here to insure that you wouldn’t.”
Rostnikov turned to the scientist, who gently patted the strap-on bomb on his lap.
“First,” said Paulinin, obviously delighted with himself, “you supposedly have a wire attached to the detonator you held in your right hand. The metal detectors downstairs didn’t perceive it. They are very delicate. The police are very paranoid. But it was possible you had another means of using the detonator, though I wondered why a man with your abilities-and I don’t give out compliments easily; you may ask Inspector Karpo-a man with your abilities should have such a primitive detonation device as a simple plunger and encased wire. It was for dramatic effect, perhaps? It could have been compressed air, but that would require more pressure than that simple wire and plunger could guarantee. It would require that your detonator be so delicate that it could have gone off simply while you walked or took the bus or metro here. Second, you are left-handed. Your watch is on your right wrist. You kept your left hand in your pocket. An odd thing to do under the circumstances, unless you had something in the pocket. Conclusion: the real detonator, a remote, was in your favored hand in your pocket ready to be pressed should someone manage to grab your right hand held high with a dramatic though false detonation device.”
“You could have been wrong,” said Alexi, head down, weeping. “I had it planned.”
“Your false detonator is attached to a screw,” said Paulinin. “A plastic screw to help insure that you could get through metal detectors. The screw is attached to the pouch. I know of no detonation device that would simply be triggered by a current through a plastic screw, though there are instances-”
“Paulinin,” Rostnikov interrupted, retrieving his leg from the table. “You are better than Sherlock Holmes.”
“Who is that?” asked the scientist warily.
“It is of no importance,” said Rostnikov. “I have paid you the highest of compliments. You are free to leave with your plunder.”
Paulinin did something with his face that may have been a smile and then he left the room. When the door closed, there was silence broken only by Alexi’s sobs. Karpo stood behind the seated man, looking at Rostnikov for instruction.
Rostnikov motioned with his hand for Karpo to release Alexi. Karpo did so, though he remained standing behind the bomber.
“Give us the names of the people your father was blackmailing,” said Rostnikov. “Give us the evidence. Tell us who you sent that last bomb to. Regain your dignity. By the time the world’s media receives your letter, they will know Petrovka has not been destroyed. Your letter will go in the garbage with the other eccentric letters of the day. You’ve killed only one person to this point. If you must die, you can now do so without taking any lives and with some pride in what you have done to bring criminals to justice.”
“They are rich,” Alexi said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “These men. They are powerful. They’ll bribe their way out of trouble.”
Rostnikov shrugged. Alexi had a point.
