later he was in his office, door closed, behind his desk. He dropped the folder and envelope with the tickets and cash on his desk and quickly removed his artificial leg as he sat. He began scratching the stump as he settled back. Ecstasy. Pure delight. Better than Sarah s Chicken Tabak. Better than walking in the snow. Better than winning the senior weight-lifting title in Ismailovo Park. The itch slowly spread and Rostnikov worked on it as he reached for the phone on his desk with one hand and pushed a number on the keyboard.
“Come to my office,” he said and hung up.
The itching slowly departed and Porfiry Petrovich reconsidered the delights of life. Scratching an itch was very good, but Chicken Tabak, sex, snow, and the rush from lifting massive weights had now moved high above it on his list of pleasures.
He put his legs down, the front of the desk hiding the artificial leg he had not replaced on the chance that the itch would return.
Rostnikov had believed very little of what Yaklovev had told him, but that didn’t matter. The assignment was clear and probably not as difficult as it appeared to be on the surface.
A knock.
“Come in.”
Sasha Tkach entered. Rostnikov motioned him across the small space and nodded at the chair on the other side of the desk. Sasha sat.
“How would you like to take a trip?”
“Where?”
“Siberia, the Trans-Siberian Express.”
“To China?”
“Vladivostok.”
Sasha brushed the lock of hair from his face. He did not look pleased by the prospect of the journey.
“When?” asked Sasha.
“Tonight,” said Rostnikov.
“Maya is coming back tomorrow,” he said.
“I am pleased to hear that,” said Rostnikov. “You can call her. Tell her to move in with the children, get resettled, have the apartment to herself. Does Lydia know Maya is coming back?”
“Yes,” said Sasha. “I should be here.”
“Perhaps not” said Rostnikov. “Perhaps Maya would welcome a few days or so without the awkwardness of reunion. And you would have time away from Lydia.”
“That would be good,” Sasha admitted.
“Can you keep her away from Maya and the children?”
“No,” said Sasha. “She paid for their return tickets. She wants to see her grandchildren. Maya knows. She understands.”
“Good. Tonight. Number-two train. I’ll pick you up in a cab around ten. Have you ever been to Siberia?”
“No,” said Sasha.
“It can be cold, beautiful,” said Rostnikov. It can also be quite deadly, he thought.
“Do I have a choice?” asked Sasha.
“Refusal is always an option, but refusal has consequences,” said Rostnikov. “That is not a threat, Sasha. It is an essential moral essence of life.”
“I have some work to finish,” said Sasha, standing.
“Call Maya from here; your office,” said Rostnikov. “It is police business. I’m sure Director Yaklovev will not mind.” He was equally certain that the Yak was listening to the conversation. “Pack enough for seven days,” he added.
If things went well and they found the courier and the package, they might be back sooner, possibly much sooner, but they had to be prepared to travel all the way to Vladivostok if necessary.
Sasha nodded and left the office.
Rostnikov thought the younger detective was in serious need of a change of scenery. It would probably be snowing in Siberia. He could spend hours looking out at mountains, losing himself in a meditation he would not recognize as meditation.
Rostnikov sat back and turned his chair toward the window so he could watch the snow and plan how he was to find his quarry, on a train full of people, when he had no idea who he might be looking for.
A bag of half a million American dollars, or deutsche marks or French francs or British pounds, would be reasonably large even if the bills were in large denominations. Starting with the first-class passengers, he would have Sasha make his way through the train, examining every piece of luggage. A passenger who carried a sizeable bag with him or her at all times would be a certain target. Distracting the carrier might be difficult but Rostnikov enjoyed a game of distraction.
Because of his leg, Rostnikovs task would be the diversion of individual passengers. The agile and innocent-appearing Sasha Tkach would do the search of each compartment.
It was a reasonable plan, but there had to be contingencies. He would work them out. Later he would work them out.
But now he began to think seriously about lunch.
Chapter Five
There were plainclothes police officers at every one of the twenty-two stops of the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line, the orange line, of the Moscow metro. Some carried newspapers, pretending to read. Others carried briefcases and wore watches, which they checked periodically as if they were late for an important meeting. A few were more creative.
Most of the officers, regular users of the metro system themselves, were aware that the more successful businessmen, government officials, and Mafiosi of the city seldom used the underground. Although there was a clear class distinction, there were still many well-dressed men in the age group of the men who had been attacked.
One young officer named Mariankyov assigned to the Cheryomushki station dressed up like a gypsy, or what he thought a gypsy looked like. He was the most conspicuous of all the police officers. Gypsy men alone on the platform at a metro station or at a bus stop were open warnings that a pickpocket was present. The truth was that the gypsy pickpockets had long since learned to dress more conservatively.
People avoided Mariankyov, except for one old man in an overcoat who bumped into him as he rushed to catch a departing train. Moments later Mariankyov discovered that his pocket had been picked.
By noon, five women had been picked up based upon their resemblance to the drawing each officer carried in his memory and his pocket. The women were brought to Elena Timofeyeva and Iosef Rostnikov, who headquartered in a small office at the Tretyakovskaya station at the center of the line.
One of the women was the wife of a Portuguese leather buyer. The woman had been in Moscow for only one day and carried no knife. She was released.
Another woman was an actress with the Moscow Theater Company. Iosef knew her slightly from his theater days. She carried no knife and found the arrest interesting. She was released.
The third woman did have a small folding knife in her purse, along with a can of Mace. She was terrified of muggers and not particularly at ease with the police. She had once been accosted by a drunk on her way to work as a hotel maid. She was released.
The fourth woman was Chinese. She was released.
The fifth woman was not a woman at all but a transvestite prostitute coming home from an unsuccessful morning, which did not surprise either of the detectives since the man was incredibly homely. He carried a razor in his pocket. It was an ancient straight razor. He said the sight of it usually deterred people who did not understand or appreciate alternative life-styles and careers. He was released.
None of those arrested had a sprained wrist.
While all this was going on, more than fifty thousand people traveled to work, home, sightseeing, and
