Tatiana

“That’s not mine.”

“I know, but it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Stand up.”

“You’re not a murderer.”

“I can kill you all the same.”

Arkady stood. He flipped his cigarette into the water and braced himself to dive when he heard a hum in the pocket of his jacket. While Maxim hesitated, Arkady took out his cell phone and put it on speaker.

Zhenya sounded triumphant. He said, “You’re looking for the wrong boat. There’s another Natalya Goncharova.”

32

Grisha’s Natalya Goncharova was a yacht with a Cayman Islands registry. The Natalya Goncharova they needed to find was an oil tanker out of Kaliningrad.

The port handled grain and coal, but mainly it handled oil, a viscous sludge for domestic use and diesel for export. Every ship was enormous compared to the dinghy, every sound produced an echo, every rope that rode slack with the tide had reason to creak.

Arkady read by flashlight the name of each ship they passed. Some were nearly derelict, others ready to sail. He understood that for Maxim this was only a pause and unless they found the meeting of Ape Beledon and his partners, Maxim would resume where he’d left off.

Finally there were lights on a ship ahead and the Natalya Goncharova appeared through the mist. Whoever named her had a sense of humor. Instead of Grisha’s elegant yacht, this Natalya was a tramp, a stubby coastal tanker ringed with tire bumpers. A mood of mutual congratulation hung in the air. Although Arkady couldn’t make out what was being said, Alexi’s laugh was unmistakable. Arkady looked back at Maxim, who followed Arkady up a rusty ladder and over the side.

The tanker’s deck was an intricate maze of valves painted red. Squeezed against the deckhouse was a table and ice buckets of Champagne.

Arkady recognized Abdul, the Shagelmans, Ape and his two sons. Abdul was dressed in black Chechen chic, as if he might drive a Porsche during the week and a tank on weekends. The Shagelmans looked like old folks staying up late. Arkady couldn’t put names to the coterie of deputy ministers and naval officers gathered around the table but he knew their types. A pair of Chinese businessmen in stovepipe suits played at being invisible. They all froze as Arkady and Maxim stepped into the open.

Alexi recovered nimbly, as cool as a croupier. “I guess this means your friends figured out the notebook. It doesn’t matter. As you can see, everything is going ahead.”

Bodyguards who had been stationed at a respectful distance on the dock came running. Ape motioned for them to slow down. In the notebook, Grisha had been the first among equals, the Man in the Hat with a Line Underneath. That title would have gone to Ape by seniority now.

Arkady could see that Alexi wished for nothing more than to have him and Maxim shot where they stood. However, for the moment at least, it might have seemed a breach of good manners. A little pushy. Premature. With his hairy wrists and single brow, Ape might have seemed primitive and bent by age but he was a stickler for manners. Waiting for a cue, the navy brass held their Champagne glasses at half-mast, ready to be raised as soon as this hiccup was over. It was a simple ceremony. No caviar. More like a first shovel breaking ground for a new enterprise.

“Welcome,” Ape said. He skipped introductions except to add, “And this must be the famous poet Maxim Dal.” Maxim was flattered. What greater recognition than a nod from a legendary criminal? “Do you think you could write a poem about this? Obviously, you can’t write with a gun in your hand. See, this is an amicable meeting of friends from far and wide. Give me that. It’s a pop gun, anyway. Please.” Ape took the pistol.

“Let me handle them,” Alexi said.

“Why? We’re not doing anything illegal,” Ape said.

“They know about Curonian Amber,” Alexi said in a stage whisper to help the old man along.

“Let them.”

Arkady said, “The notebook left behind by your interpreter wasn’t as impossible to decode as people thought. We know that a Russian nuclear submarine that failed its sea tests is going to be refitted in China.”

“Yes. It’s called outsourcing,” Ape said.

“And we know that half the money for the refit will be raked off the top by you and your cronies in the Defense Ministry and the Kremlin. It’s criminal.”

“Business costs. Totally normal. Administration of a task of this magnitude is often fifty percent of a budget. Anything else?” Ape asked.

“Murder.”

Signs of anxiety started to appear among the guests. No introductions had been made, but Arkady had seen them and their species in newspaper photos standing at attention or adorned by military caps. The two Chinese gentlemen traded significant glances.

Alexi said, “That’s a lie.”

Arkady shook his head and said, “The correct response is ‘Who?’ ”

“That’s true,” Ape said. “But, Investigator Renko, you’re playing a dangerous game. My partners in Curonian Amber have already invested time and money.”

“You have great expectations?”

“You could say that.”

That was good but not enough, Arkady thought. He needed a clear admission of a crime recorded on tape.

“What if the Kaliningrad becomes another Kursk? That would be a disaster for you and the Kremlin.”

“Accidents happen.”

“But you’re loading the odds when a nuclear submarine is built by thieves at a cut rate. The downside, as they say, would be enormous.”

“There’s a risk.”

“Would Grisha have taken it?”

“Grisha was a risk taker,” Abdul said.

“Now he’s dead.” Arkady turned to Ape. “Didn’t you once advise me to ask, ‘Whose ox is gored?’ ”

“Circumstances are different. In Moscow you were a man with authority. Now you’re away from home.”

Again, good to have on tape, but not enough.

Alexi said, “I’m not going to listen to this bullshit anymore. What are we waiting for?”

“We want to hear more,” one of the Chinese said.

Doubt had been raised. In the eyes of the visitors from the Red Dawn Shipyard, Arkady could practically see the beads of an abacus sliding on a rack calculating the risks one way and the other. Isaac Shagelman looked toward his wife, Valentina, for a decision, as if the question were about putting down a dog. She looked at the ship’s ladder and gasped.

Tatiana appeared from nowhere, shining from the water that dripped off her. She climbed onto the deck but she could as well have landed like a Valkyrie. She had come in the second dinghy and must have swum to collect its oars. Arkady thought he should have anticipated this. She had warned him that she was not the sort of woman to miss the fun.

“It’s not so simple,” she said.

Ape said to Alexi, “You led us to believe that Tatiana Petrovna was dead.”

“It was my sister that Alexi killed,” Tatiana said.

“And your sons killed Maxim’s ZIL,” Arkady added. “Maxim and I happened to be inside it at the time. They