Russians within Kazakhstan would be uncertain.”
“And,” came the voice of a tall, erect man in his late sixties, “if a minister from one of the former republics had been murdered while under our protection and it became known that we had not immediately disclosed the fact, other republics would view us with suspicion. The entire fragile network of the continuing alliance would be in jeopardy.”
The speaker, Maxim Popolov, had been carefully chosen to speak at this point. Popolov was the closest thing to an old friend the Wolfhound had around the table. Popolov had at one time been information director in the Ministry of the Interior. He and Colonel Snitkonoy had eaten together, exchanged information, and even, on occasions when it was mutually beneficial, supported each other’s careers. Now, Maxim Popolov’s eyes met those of the colonel and urged him to make no mistake.
“We are inextricably tied together in the collective minds of the Western nations,” Popolov went on, “and we are desperately in need of the financial support and goodwill of these nations if the new Russia is to survive.”
Popolov paused and reached for his cigarettes. Someone coughed.
“Therefore,” Popolov went on, “if a force within Russia, perhaps even within a government in transition, wished to cause upheaval by murdering the Kazakhstan foreign minister, it would not be in the best interest of the State to play into the hands of such a force by announcing to the world that the murder had taken place.”
Now General Karsnikov spoke. “The original report on the death of Kumad Kustan states that he died of a heart attack,” said the general. “The contradicting report comes from a single laboratory technician whose results in the past have ranged from the extraordinary to the eccentric. A panel of distinguished physicians has reaffirmed that the original finding of death by heart failure is accurate. The body of the deceased and all of its organs, with the agreement of the Kazakhstani parliament, have been cremated according to the wishes of the foreign minister’s family. You may now make your presentation of evidence and speculation to this panel for review and disposition.”
The Wolfhound looked around the room at each of the ten who had put him in this awkward position. No, that was not fair. He had put himself in this position, but he had had no choice. If someone had found that Karpo had presented him with a report concerning the possible murder of a foreign minister and he had chosen to suppress the report, it would surely have been held against him in the future. In years past it could have led to his imprisonment or execution. Now, who knew?
Some around the table looked at him with a challenge, almost willing him to put his neck in the noose. A few, including Popolov and Dimitkova, urged him with their looks to retreat with dignity. Others did not meet his eyes at all.
“I am here,” said the Wolfhound, in the deep, confident baritone he had perfected, “solely to inform this committee that such speculation exists and should be taken into account, dealt with as you see fit. I will support and execute any decisions you make.”
There was a rustling of papers and a sense of relief around the table before Popolov spoke again.
“We would like all copies of your report, all computer disks, and all information relating to it.”
“My assistant will have it in your hands by four o’clock,” said the Wolfhound.
“If you do not mind,” said General Karsnikov, “a member of my staff and an associate of member Olga Dimitkova will accompany you to your office immediately following this meeting to expedite this relay of information.”
The Wolfhound knew this meant that those around the table distrusted not only him but each other. He said, “I welcome and appreciate the committee’s willingness to act so quickly in resolving this issue so that I can get back to the mission of my office.”
“Your vigilance is appreciated,” said the general. “Please continue to bring to our attention any problem that might have serious consequences inside or outside our borders.”
In his mind, the Wolfhound translated this as, “If you put us in an awkward position like this again, you shall suffer for it.”
“Unless there is additional business,” said the general, turning to those at the table, “we shall now adjourn.”
“One question,” said Popolov, examining the burning end of his cigarette. “Colonel Snitkonoy, what progress has there been in identifying and apprehending the multiple murderer or murderers known as
“Our office, in coordination with all other security services, is working to bring Case 341 successfully to a close,” said the Wolfhound. “We have a new initiative which we have reason to believe will soon lead us to the murderer.”
“Our security apparatus has suffered in prestige,” said Popolov, glancing at General Karsnikov and then back to Colonel Snitkonoy. “Failure to resolve such a loathsome string of killings could also have political and international consequences.”
“I understand,” said the Wolfhound. “And with that foremost in mind I request additional manpower from the MVD and other services for a one-week surveillance.”
“How many people will you need?” asked the general.
“At least one hundred armed officers.”
“And this is your idea, Colonel?” It was a new voice, the voice of General Lugharev of Military Investigation.
“No,” said the Wolfhound, “it is the idea of one of my men who has been on the case for several months.”
“Karpo,” said General Lugharev.
“Yes.”
“The same one who prepared the report on the alleged murder of Minister Kumad Kustan?”
“That is correct,” said the colonel.
“And you agree with his suggestion?”
“I believe it has merit,” said the colonel, “and that is why I presented it to you.”
“Given the current crisis in Moscow,” said Lugharev, “the gangs, the possibility of riots, I do not see how we can commit a small army of men and women without a stronger case for taking them from present important tasks.”
“I am afraid,” said General Karsnikov, “that you will have to tell your staff to engage in this speculative venture with whatever help the Metro division can give.”
“We will make do,” said Colonel Snitkonoy. It was what he had expected, no more, no less.
“We are adjourned,” General Karsnikov said abruptly.
Colonel Snitkonoy had waited for the members to begin rising before he got up, gathered his files, and allowed himself a moment of relief for having escaped with only a rap on the knuckles.
Following the meeting, Olga Dimitkova and a nonuniformed captain from General Karsnikov’s staff accompanied Colonel Snitkonoy back to Petrovka. They refused his offer of tea and waited in his office for Pankov to gather the records and both the original disk of Karpo’s report and his own backup, plus original “and file copies of the autopsy report on the foreign minister and the conflicting report on vital organs.
Conversation had been brief and Pankov had scrambled as quickly as he could to furnish the information.
Now, in the familiarity of his bedroom five hours later, Colonel Snitkonoy assessed the events of the day and concluded that he had done well. Everyone on the committee would assume that he had another copy of the evidence. But he had gone on record as having turned everything over to the committee. He had assured the committee that he understood the stakes and was prepared to cooperate.
The Wolfhound was confident that General Karsnikov had been a party to the death of the Kazakhstani minister, and he knew the general would appreciate his not forcing an issue that, at best, would lead to the general’s embarrassment.
The colonel finished his tea and looked at his lamp, an ancient stained-glass and lead monstrosity that had belonged to a member of the Czar’s private guard before the revolution. The problem was no longer the committee. The problem was Emil Karpo. The Wolfhound did not relish the prospect of conveying the committee’s decision to Karpo.
As the colonel turned off the light and climbed into bed, he considered the ways in which he might turn the
